LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  CRUZ 


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Robert  D.  Farquhar 


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SANTA     CRUZ 


PENROD  AND  SAM 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

BEASLEY'S  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  LADY 
BEAUTY  AND  THE  JACOBIN 

CHERRY 
CONQUEST  OF  CANAAN 

THE  FLIRT 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA 

THE  GUEST  OF  QUESNAY 

HIS  OWN  PEOPLE 

IN  THE  ARENA 
THE  MAN  FROM  HOME 
MONSIEUR  BEAUCAIRE 

PENROD 
THE  TWO  VANREVELS 


"The  obedient  Verman  marched  into  the  closet  and  sat  down  among 
the  shoes  and  slippers,  where  he  presented  an  interesting  effect  of 
contrast" 


PENROD  AND  SAM 


BY 

BOOTH  TARKINGTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "PENROD" 


Illustrated  by 
WORTH  BREHM 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


Copyright,  1914-,  1915,  1916,  by 
INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINES  Co.  (COSMOPOLITAN  MAGAZINE) 


23  7Z 


To 
SUSANAH 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.  Penrod  and  Sam       ......  3 

H.  The  Bonded  Prisoner     .....  20 

III.  The  Militarist     .......  34 

IV.  Bingism          .,    .     ......  43 

V.  Theln-Or-In  ........  64 

VI.  Georgie  Becomes  a  Member     ...  79 

VII.  Whitey     .........  101 

VHL  Salvage     .........  109 

IX.  Reward  of  Merit      ......  120 

X.  Conscience     ........  137 

XL  The  Tonic      .      .......  149 

XH.  Gipsy       ....      .....  164 

XIII.  Concerning  Trousers      .....  174 

XIV.  Camera  Work  in  the  Jungle     ...  188 
XV.  A  Model  Letter  to  a  Friend     ... 


XVI.     Wednesday  Madness     .....     218 

vii 


PAGE 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XVII.  Penrod's  Busy  Day 232 

XVni.  On  Account  of  the  Weather  .  .  257 

XIX.  Creative  Art  . 271 

XX.  The  Departing  Guest  ....  282 

XXI.  Yearnings 289 

XXII.  The  Horn  of  Fame 305 

XXin.  The  Party *  .  .  323 

XXIV.  The  Heart  of  Marjorie  Jones  .  .  345 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  obedient  Verman  marched  into  the  closet 
and  sat  down  among  the  shoes  and  slippers, 
where  he  presented  an  interesting  effect  of 
contrast"  (See  page  14)  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

PACING  PAGE 

" '  I  can't  pull  the  trigger,'  said  Sam  indistinctly. 

'She  won't  pull!" 58 

"Well,  then  we  had  the  rixual,  and — and — why, 
the  teeny  little  paddlin'  he  got  wouldn't  hurt 
a  flea!" 98 

"Penrod  did  not  reply.  His  expression  had  be- 
come peculiar,  and  the  peculiarity  of  his 
manner  was  equal  to  that  of  his  expression"  155 

'  *  How'm  I  go'  git  'at  stove- wood  when  my  britches 
down  bottom  'at  cistern,  I  like  you  answer 
me,  please?'"  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  190 

"'Bing!  Bing!'  shouted  Sam,  levelling  his  gun  at 
the  cage,  while  Herman  and  Verman  ham- 
mered upon  it,  and  Gipsy  cursed  boys,  the 
world,  and  the  day  he  was  born"  .  .  .  198 

*  *  Dear  friend,'  he  declaimed.  'You  call  me  beau- 
tiful, but  I  am  not  really  beautiful"  .  .  214 

"  He  made  a  mock  bow  and  a  mock  apology,  being 
inspired  to  invent  a  jargon  phrase.  *  Excuse 
me/  he  said"  .  334 


PENROD  AND  SAM 


CHAPTER  I 

PENROD   AND    SAM 

DURING  the  daylight  hours  of  several  au- 
tumn Saturdays  there  had  been  severe  out- 
breaks of  cavalry  in  the  Schofield  neigh- 
bourhood. The  sabres  were  of  wood;  the  steeds  were 
imaginary,  and  both  were  employed  in  a  game  called 
"bonded  pris'ner"  by  its  inventors,  Masters  Penrod 
Schofield  and  Samuel  Williams.  The  pastime  was 
not  intricate.  When  two  enemies  met,  they  fenced 
spectacularly  until  the  person  of  one  or  the  other  was 
touched  by  the  opposing  weapon;  then,  when  the  en- 
suing claims  of  foul  play  had  been  disallowed  and  the 
subsequent  argument  settled,  the  combatant  touched 
was  considered  to  be  a  prisoner  until  such  time  as  he 
might  be  touched  by  the  hilt  of  a  sword  belonging  to 
one  of  his  own  party,  which  affected  his  release  and 
restored  to  him  the  full  enjoyment  of  hostile  activity. 
Pending  such  rescue,  however,  he  was  obliged  to  ac- 
company the  forces  of  his  captor  whithersoever  their 

strategical  necessities  led  them,  which  included  many 

3 


4  PENROD  AND  SAM 

strange  places.  For  the  game  was  exciting,  and,  at 
its  highest  pitch,  would  sweep  out  of  an  alley  into  a 
stable,  out  of  that  stable  and  into  a  yard,  out  of  that 
yard  and  into  a  house,  and  through  that  house  with 
the  sound  (and  effect  upon  furniture)  of  trampling 
herds.  In  fact,  this  very  similarity  must  have  been 
in  the  mind  of  the  distressed  coloured  woman  in  Mrs. 
Williams'  kitchen,  when  she  declared  that  she  might 
"  jes'  as  well  try  to  cook  right  spang  in  the  middle  o' 
the  stock-yards." 

All  up  and  down  the  neighbourhood  the  campaigns 
were  waged,  accompanied  by  the  martial  clashing  of 
wood  upon  wood  and  by  many  clamorous  arguments. 

"You're  a  pris'ner,  Roddy  Bitts!" 

"I  am  not!" 

"You  are,  too!    I  touched  you." 

"Where,  I'd  like  to  know!" 

"On  the  sleeve." 

"  You  did  not !  I  never  felt  it.  I  guess  I'd  'a'  felt 
it,  wouldn't  I?" 

"What  if  you  didn't?  I  touched  you,  and  you're 
bonded.  I  leave  it  to  Sam  Williams." 

"Yah!  Course  you  would!  He's  on  your  side! 
7  leave  it  to  Herman." 

"No,  you  won't!    If  you  can't  show  any  sense 


PENROD  AND  SAM  5 

about  it,  we'll  do  it  over,  and  I  guess  you'll  see 
whether  you  feel  it  or  not!     There!     Now,  I  guess 

you " 

"Aw,  squash!" 

Strangely  enough,  the  undoubted  champion  proved 
to  be  the  youngest  and  darkest  of  all  the  combatants, 
one  Verman,  coloured,  brother  to  Herman,  and  sub- 
stantially under  the  size  to  which  his  nine  years  en- 
titled him.  Verman  was  unfortunately  tongue-tied, 
but  he  was  valiant  beyond  all  others,  and,  in  spite  of 
every  handicap,  he  became  at  once  the  chief  support 
of  his  own  party  and  the  despair  of  the  opposition. 

On  the  third  Saturday  this  opposition  had  been 
worn  down  by  the  successive  captures  of  Maurice 
Levy  and  Georgie  Bassett  until  it  consisted  of  only 
Sam  Williams  and  Penrod.  Hence,  it  behooved  these 
two  to  be  wary,  lest  they  be  wiped  out  altogether;  and 
Sam  was  dismayed  indeed,  upon  cautiously  scouting 
round  a  corner  of  his  own  stable,  to  find  himself  face 
to  face  with  the  valorous  and  skilful  Verman,  who  was 
acting  as  an  outpost,  or  picket,  of  the  enemy. 

Verman  immediately  fell  upon  Sam,  horse  and 
foot,  and  Sam  would  have  fled  but  dared  not,  for  fear 
he  might  be  touched  from  the  rear.  Therefore,  he  de- 
fended himself  as  best  he  could,  and  there  followed  a 


6  PENROD  AND  SAM 

lusty  whacking,  in  the  course  of  which  Verman's  hat, 
a  relic  and  too  large,  fell  from  his  head,  touching 
Sam's  weapon  in  falling. 

"There!"  panted  Sam,  desisting  immediately. 
"That  counts!  You're  bonded,  Verman." 

"Aim  meewer!"  Verman  protested. 

Interpreting  this  as,  "Ain't  neither,"  Sam  invented 
a  law  to  suit  the  occasion.  "Yes,  you  are;  that's  the 
rule,  Verman.  I  tou  ched  your  hat  with  my  sword,  and 
your  hat's  just  the  same  as  you." 

"Imm  mop!"  Verman  insisted. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  Sam,  already  warmly  convinced 
(by  his  own  statement)  that  he  was  in  the  right. 
"Listen  here!  If  I  hit  you  on  the  shoe,  it  would  be 
the  same  as  hitting  you,  wouldn't  it?  I  guess  it'd 
count  if  I  hit  you  on  the  shoe,  wouldn't  it?  Well,  a 
hat's  just  the  same  as  shoes.  Honest,  that's  the  rule, 
Verman,  and  you're  a  pris'ner." 

Now,  in  the  arguing  part  of  the  game,  Verman's  im- 
pediment cooperated  with  a  native  amiability  to 
render  him  far  less  effective  than  in  the  actual  combat. 
He  chuckled,  and  ceded  the  point. 

"Aw  wi,"  he  said,  and  cheerfully  followed  his  cap- 
tor to  a  hidden  place  among  some  bushes  in  the  front 
yard,  where  Penrod  lurked. 


PENROD  AND  SAM  7 

"Looky  what  /  got!"  Sam  said  importantly,  push- 
ing his  captive  into  this  retreat.  "Now,  I  guess  you 
won't  say  I'm  not  so  much  use  any  more!  Squat 
down,  Verman,  so's  they  can't  see  you  if  they're 
huntin'  for  us.  That's  one  o'  the  rules — honest.  You 
got  to  squat  when  we  tell  you  to." 

Verman  was  agreeable.  He  squatted,  and  then 
began  to  laugh  uproariously. 

"Stop  that  noise!"  Penrod  commanded.  "You 
want  to  bekray  us?  What  you  laughin'  at?" 

"Ep  mack  im  mimmup,"  Verman  giggled. 

"What's  he  mean?"  asked  Sam. 

Penrod  was  more  familiar  with  Verman's  utterance, 
and  he  interpreted. 

"He  says  they'll  get  him  back  in  a  minute." 

"No,  they  won't.     I'd  just  like  to  see " 

"Yes,  they  will,  too,"  said  Penrod.  "They'll  get 
him  back  for  the  main  and  simple  reason  we  can't 
stay  here  all  day,  can  we?  And  they'd  find  us  any- 
how, if  we  tried  to.  There's  so  many  of  'em  against 
just  us  two,  they  can  run  in  and  touch  him  soon 
as  they  get  up  to  us — and  then  he'll  be  after  us 
again  and " 

"Listen  here!"  Sam  interrupted.  "Why  can't  we 
put  some  real  bonds  on  him?  We  could  put  bonds  on 


8  PENROD  AND  SAM 

his  wrists  and  around  his  legs — we  could  put  'em  all 
over  him,  easy  as  nothin'.  Then  we  could  gag 
him " 

"No,  we  can't,"  said  Penrod.  "We  can't,  for  the 
main  and  simple  reason  we  haven't  got  any  rope  or 
anything  to  make  the  bonds  with,  have  we?  I  wish 
we  had  some  o'  that  stuff  they  give  sick  people.  Then, 
I  bet  they  wouldn't  get  him  back  so  soon!" 

"Sick  people?"  Sam  repeated,  not  comprehending. 

"It  makes  'em  go  to  sleep,  no  matter  what  you  do 
to  'em,"  Penrod  explained.  "That's  the  main  and 
simple  reason  they  can't  wake  up,  and  you  can  cut  off 
their  ole  legs — or  their  arms,  or  anything  you  want 
to." 

"  Hoy ! "  exclaimed  Verman,  in  a  serious  tone.  His 
laughter  ceased  instantly,  and  he  began  to  utter  a 
protest  sufficiently  intelligible. 

"  You  needn't  worry,"  Penrod  said  gloomily.  "  We 
haven't  got  any  o'  that  stuff;  so  we  can't  do  it." 

"Well,  we  got  to  do  sumpthing,"  said  Sam. 

His  comrade  agreed,  and  there  was  a  thoughtful 
silence,  but  presently  Penrod's  countenance  bright- 
ened. 

"I  know!"  he  exclaimed.  "/  know  what  we'll  do 
with  him.  Why,  I  thought  of  it  just  as  easy  !  I  can 


PENROD  AND  SAM  9 

most  always  think  of  things  like  that,  for  the  main 
and  simple  reason — well,  I  thought  of  it  just  as 


soon- 


"Well,  what  is  it?"  Sam  demanded  crossly.  Pen- 
rod's  reiteration  of  his  new-found  phrase,  "for  the 
main  and  simple  reason,"  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  irksome  to  his  friend  all  day,  though  Sam  was 
not  definitely  aware  that  the  phrase  was  the  cause  of 
his  annoyance.  "  What  are  we  goin*  to  do  with  him, 
you  know  so  much?" 

Penrod  rose  and  peered  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  a  gesture  which  was  un- 
necessary but  had  a  good  appearance.  He  looked  all 
round  about  him  in  this  manner,  finally  vouchsafing  a 
report  to  the  impatient  Sam. 

"No  enemies  in  sight — just  for  the  main  and  simple 
reason  I  expect  they're  all  in  the  alley  and  in  Georgie 
Bassett's  backyard." 

"I  bet  they're  not!"  Sam  said  scornfully,  his  irri- 
tation much  increased.  "  How  do  you  know  so  much 
about  it?" 

"Just  for  the  main  and  simple  reason,"  Penrod  re- 
plied, with  dignified  finality. 

And  at  that,  Sam  felt  a  powerful  impulse  to  do 
violence  upon  the  person  of  his  comrade-in-arms. 


10  PENROD  AND  SAM 

The  emotion  which  prompted  this  impulse  was  so 
primitive  and  straightforward  that  it  almost  resulted 
in  action,  but  Sam  had  a  vague  sense  that  he  must 
control  it  as  long  as  he  could. 

"Bugs!  "he  said. 

Penrod  was  sensitive,  and  this  cold  word  hurt  him. 
However,  he  was  under  the  domination  of  his  strategic 
idea,  and  he  subordinated  private  grievance  to  the 
common  weal.  "Get  up!"  he  commanded.  "You 
get  up,  too,  Verman.  You  got  to — it's  the  rule.  Now 
here — I'll  show  you  what  we're  goin'  to  do.  Stoop 
over,  and  botho'  you  do  just  exackly  like  I  do. 
You  watch  me,  because  this  biz'nuss  has  got  to  be 
done  right  I" 

Sam  muttered  something;  he  was  becoming  more 
insurgent  every  moment,  but  he  obeyed.  Likewise, 
Verman  rose  to  his  feet,  ducked  his  head  between  his 
shoulders,  and  trotted  out  to  the  sidewalk  at  Sam's 
heels,  both  following  Penrod  and  assuming  a  stooping 
position  in  imitation  of  him.  Verman  was  delighted 
with  this  phase  of  the  game,  and,  also,  he  was  pro- 
foundly amused  by  Penrod's  pomposity.  Something 
dim  and  deep  within  him  perceived  it  to  be  cause 
for  such  merriment  that  he  had  ado  to  master  himself, 
and  was  forced  to  bottle  and  cork  his  laughter  with 


PENROD  AND  SAM  11 

both  hands.  They  proved  insufficient;  sputterings 
burst  forth  between  his  fingers. 

"You  stop  that!"  said  Penrod,  looking  back  darkly 
upon  the  prisoner. 

Verman  endeavoured  to  oblige,  though  giggles  con- 
tinued to  leak  from  him  at  intervals,  and  the  three 
boys  stole  along  the  fence  in  single  file,  proceeding  in 
this  fashion  until  they  reached  Penrod's  own  front 
gate.  Here  the  leader  ascertained,  by  a  reconnais- 
sance as  far  as  the  corner,  that  the  hostile  forces  were 
still  looking  for  them  in  another  direction.  He  re- 
turned in  a  stealthy  but  important  manner  to  his  dis- 
gruntled follower  and  the  hilarious  captive. 

"Well,"  said  Sam  impatiently,  "I  guess  I'm  not 
goin'  to  stand  around  here  all  day,  I  guess !  You  got 
anything  you  want  to  do,  why'n't  you  go  on  and  do  it?  " 

Penrod's  brow  was  already  contorted  to  present  the 
appearance  of  detached  and  lofty  concentration — a 
histrionic  failure,  since  it  did  not  deceive  the  audience. 
He  raised  a  hushing  hand. 

"Sh  r  he  murmured.     "I  got  to  think." 

"Bugs!"  said  the  impolite  Mr.  Williams  again. 

Verman  bent  double,  squealing  and  sputtering;  in- 
deed, he  was  ultimately  forced  to  sit  upon  the  ground, 
so  exhausting  was  the  mirth  to  which  he  now  gave 


12  PENROD  AND  SAM 

way.  Penrod's  composure  was  somewhat  affected, 
and  he  showed  annoyance. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  won't  laugh  quite  so  much  about  a 
minute  from  now,  ole  Mister  Verman!"  he  said  se- 
verely. "You  get  up  from  there  and  do  like  I  tell 
you." 

"Well,  why 'n't  you  tell  him  why  he  won't  laugh 
so  much,  then?"  Sam  demanded,  as  Verman  rose. 
"Why 'n't  you  do  sumpthing  and  quit  talkin'  so  much 
about  it?" 

Penrod  haughtily  led  the  way  into  the  yard. 

"You  follow  me,"  he  said,  "and  I  guess  you'll  learn 
a  little  sense ! " 

Then,  abandoning  his  hauteur  for  an  air  of  mystery 
equally  irritating  to  Sam,  he  stole  up  the  steps  of  the 
porch,  and  after  a  moment's  manipulation  of  the 
knob  of  the  big  front  door,  contrived  to  operate  the 
fastenings,  and  pushed  the  door  open. 

"Come  on,"  he  whispered,  beckoning.  And  the 
three  boys  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  floor  above  in 
silence — save  for  a  belated  giggle  on  the  part  of  Ver- 
man, which  was  restrained  upon  a  terrible  gesture 
from  Penrod.  Verman  buried  his  mouth  as  deeply  as 
possible  in  a  ragged  sleeve,  and  confined  his  demon- 
strations to  a  heaving  of  the  stomach  and  diaphragm. 


PENROD  AND  SAM  13 

Penrod  led  the  way  into  the  dainty  room  of  his  nine- 
teen-year-old sister,  Margaret,  and  closed  the  door. 

"There,"  he  said,  in  a  low  and  husky  voice,  "I  ex- 
pect you'll  see  what  I'm  goin'  to  do  now!" 

"Well,  what?"  asked  the  skeptical  Sam.  "If  we 
stay  here  very  long  your  mother'll  come  and  send  us 
downstairs.  What's  the  good  of— 

"Wait,  can't  you?"  Penrod  wailed,  in  a  whisper. 
"My  goodness!"  And  going  to  an  inner  door,  he 
threw  it  open,  disclosing  a  clothes-closet  hung  with 
p'retty  garments  of  many  kinds,  while  upon  its  floor 
were  two  rows  of  shoes  and  slippers  of  great  variety 
and  charm. 

A  significant  thing  is  to  be  remarked  concerning  the 
door  of  this  somewhat  intimate  treasury :  there  was  no 
knob  or  latch  upon  the  inner  side,  so  that,  when  the 
door  was  closed,  it  could  be  opened  only  from  the  out- 
side. 

"There!"  said  Penrod.  "You  get  in  there,  Ver- 
man,  and  I'll  bet  they  won't  get  to  touch  you  back  out 
o'  .bein'  our  pris'ner  very  soon,  now!  Oh,  I  guess 
not!" 

"Pshaw!"  said  Sam.  "Is  that  all  you  were  goin' 
to  do?  Why,  your  mother'll  come  and  make  him  get 
out  the  first " 


14  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"No,  she  won't.  She  and  Margaret  have  gone  to 
my  aunt's  in  the  country,  and  aren't  goin'  to  be  back 
till  dark.  And  even  if  he  made  a  lot  o'  noise,  it's  kind 
of  hard  to  hear  anything  from  in  there,  anyway, 
when  the  door's  shut.  Besides,  he's  got  to  keep 
quiet — that's  the  rule,  Verman.  You're  a  pris'ner, 
and  it's  the  rule  you  can't  holler  or  nothin'.  You 
unnerstand  that,  Verman?" 

"Aw  wi,"  said  Verman. 

" Then  go  on  in  there.     Hurry!" 

The  obedient  Verman  marched  into  the  closet  and 
sat  down  among  the  shoes  and  slippers,  where  he 
presented  an  interesting  effect  of  contrast.  He  was 
still  subject  to  hilarity — though  endeavouring  to  sup- 
press it  by  means  of  a  patent-leather  slipper — when 
Penrod  closed  the  door. 

"There!"  said  Penrod,  leading  the  way  from  the 
room.  "I  guess  now  you  see!" 

Sam  said  nothing,  and  they  came  out  to  the  open 
air,  and  reached  their  retreat  in  the  Williams'  yard 
again,  without  his  having  acknowledged  Penrod's 
service  to  their  mutual  cause. 

"I  thought  of  that  just  as  easy ! "  Penrod  remarked, 
probably  prompted  to  this  odious  bit  of  complacency 
by  Sam's  withholding  the  praise  which  might  nat- 


PENROD  AND  SAM  15 

urally  have  been  expected.  And  he  was  moved  to 
add,  "I  guess  it'd  of  been  a  pretty  long  while  if  we'd 
had  to  wait  for  you  to  think  of  sumpthing  as  good  as 
that,  Sam." 

"Why  would  it?"  Sam  asked.  "Why  would  it  of 
been  such  a  long  while?" 

"Oh,"  responded  Penrod,  airily,  "just  for  the  main 
and  simple  reason!" 

Sam  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"Oh,  hush  up!"  he  shouted. 

Penrod  was  stung. 

"Do  you  mean  me  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  I  do!"  replied  the  goaded  Sam. 

"Did  you  tell  me  to  hush  up?" 

"Yes,  I  did!" 

"I  guess  you  don't  know  who  you're  talkin'  to," 
Penrod  said  ominously.  "I  guess  I  just  better  show 
you  who  you're  talkin'  to  like  that.  I  guess  you  need 
a  little  sumpthing,  for  the  main  and  simple " 

Sam  uttered  an  uncontrollable  howl  and  sprang 
upon  Penrod,  catching  him  round  the  waist.  Simul- 
taneously with  this  impact,  the  wooden  swords  spun 
through  the  air,  and  were  presently  trodden  under- 
foot as  the  two  boys  wrestled  to  and  fro. 

Penrod  was  not  altogether  surprised  by  the  onset  of 


16  PENROD  AND  SAM 

his  friend.  He  had  been  aware  of  Sam's  increasing 
irritation  (though  neither  boy  could  have  clearly 
stated  its  cause),  and  that  very  irritation  produced  a 
corresponding  emotion  in  the  bosom  of  the  irritator. 
Mentally,  Penrod  was  quite  ready  for  the  conflict — 
nay,  he  welcomed  it — though,  for  the  first  few  mo- 
ments, Sam  had  the  physical  advantage. 

However,  it  is  proper  that  a  neat  distinction  be 
drawn  here.  This  was  a  conflict,  but  neither 
technically  nor  in  the  intention  of  the  contestants  was 
it  a  fight.  Penrod  and  Sam  were  both  in  a  state  of 
high  exasperation,  and  there  was  great  bitterness;  but 
no  blows  fell  and  no  tears.  They  strained,  they 
wrenched,  they  twisted,  and  they  panted,  and  mut- 
tered: "Oh,  no,  you  don't!"  "Oh,  I  guess  I  do! " 
"Oh,  you  will,  will  you?"  "You'll  see  what  you  get 
in  about  a  minute ! "  "I  guess  you'll  learn  some  sense 
this  time!" 

Streaks  and  blotches  began  to  appear  upon  the 
two  faces,  where  colour  had  been  heightened  by  the 
ardent  application  of  a  cloth  sleeve  or  shoulder,  while 
ankles  and  insteps  were  scraped  and  toes  were 
trampled.  Turf  and  shrubberies  suffered,  also,  as  the 
struggle  went  on,  until  finally  the  wrestlers  pitched 
headlong  into  a  young  lilac  bush,  and  came  to 


PENROD  AND  SAM  IT 

earth  together,  among  its  crushed  and  sprawling 
branches. 

"Ooch  /"  and  "Wuf  /"  were  the  two  exclamations 
which  marked  this  episode,  and  then,  with  no  further 
comment,  the  struggle  was  energetically  continued 
upon  a  horizontal  plane.  Now  Penrod  was  on  top, 
now  Sam;  they  rolled,  they  squirmed,  they  suffered. 
And  this  contest  endured.  It  went  on  and  on,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  imagine  its  coming  to  a  definite  ter- 
mination. It  went  on  so  long  that,  to  both  the  par- 
ticipants, it  seemed  to  be  a  permanent  thing,  a 
condition  which  had  always  existed  and  which  must 
always  exist  perpetually. 

And  thus  they  were  discovered  by  a  foray  of  the 
hostile  party,  headed  by  Roddy  Bitts  and  Herman 
(older  brother  to  Verman)  and  followed  by  the 
bonded  prisoners,  Maurice  Levy  and  Georgie  Bas- 
sett.  These  and  others  caught  sight  of  the  writhing 
figures,  and  charged  down  upon  them  with  loud  cries 
of  triumph. 

"Pris'ner!  Prisoner!  Bonded  pris'ner!"  shrieked 
Roddy  Bitts,  and  touched  Penrod  and  Sam,  each  in 
turn,  with  his  sabre.  Then,  seeing  that  they  paid  no 
attention  and  that  they  were  at  his  mercy,  he  recalled 
the  fact  that  several  times,  during  earlier  stages  of  the 


18  PENROD  AND  SAM 

game,  both  of  them  had  been  unnecessarily  vigorous 
in  "touching"  his  own  rather  plump  person.  There- 
fore, the  opportunity  being  excellent,  he  raised  his 
weapon  again,  and,  repeating  the  words  "bonded 
prisoner"  as  ample  explanation  of  his  deed,  brought 
into  play  the  full  strength  of  his  good  right  arm.  He 
used  the  flat  of  the  sabre. 

Whack  !  Whack  I  Roddy  was  perfectly  impartial. 
It  was  a  cold-blooded  performance  and  even  more 
effective  than  he  anticipated.  For  one  thing,  it  ended 
the  civil  war  instantly.  Sam  and  Penrod  leaped  to 
their  feet,  shrieking  and  bloodthirsty,  while  Maurice 
Levy  capered  with  joy,  Herman  was  so  overcome 
that  he  rolled  upon  the  ground,  and  Georgie  Bassett 
remarked  virtuously: 

"It  serves  them  right  for  fighting." 

But  Roddy  Bitts  foresaw  that  something  not 
within  the  rules  of  the  game  was  about  to  happen. 

"Here!  You  keep  away  from  me!"  he  quavered, 
retreating.  "I  was  just  takin'  you  pris'ners.  I  guess 
I  had  a  right  to  touch  you,  didn't  I?" 

Alas !  Neither  Sam  nor  Penrod  was  able  to  see  the 
matter  in  that  light.  They  had  retrieved  their  own 
weapons,  and  they  advanced  upon  Roddy,  with  a  pur- 
posefulness  that  seemed  horrible  to  him. 


PENROD  AND  SAM  19 

"Here!  You  keep  away  from  me!"  he  said,  in 
great  alarm.  "I'm  goin'  home." 

He  did  go  home — but  only  subsequently.  What 
took  place  before  his  departure  had  the  singular 
solidity  and  completeness  of  systematic  violence;  also, 
it  bore  the  moral  beauty  of  all  actions  which  lead 
to  peace  and  friendship,  for,  when  it  was  over,  and 
the  final  vocalizations  of  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior,  were  growing  faint  with  increasing  distance, 
Sam  and  Penrod  had  forgotten  their  differences  and 
felt  well  disposed  toward  each  other  once  more.  All 
their  animosity  was  exhausted,  and  they  were  in  a 
glow  of  good  feeling,  though  probably  they  were  not 
conscious  of  any  direct  gratitude  to  Roddy,  whose 
thoughtful  opportunism  was  really  the  cause  of  this 
happy  result. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   BONDED    PRISONER 

A~TER  such  rigorous  events,  every  one  com- 
prehended that  the  game  of  bonded  pris- 
oner was  over,  and  there  was  no  suggestion 
that  it  should  or  might  be  resumed.  The  fashion 
of  its  conclusion  had  been  so  consummately  enjoyed 
by  all  parties  (with  the  natural  exception  of  Roddy 
Bitts)  that  a  renewal  would  have  been  tame;  hence, 
the  various  minds  of  the  company  turned  to  other 
matters  and  became  restless.  Georgie  Bassett  with- 
drew first,  remembering  that  if  he  expected  to  be  as 
wonderful  as  usual,  to-morrow,  in  Sunday-school, 
it  was  time  to  prepare  himself,  though  this  was  not 
included  in  the  statement  he  made  alleging  the 
cause  of  his  departure.  Being  detained  bodily  and 
pressed  for  explanation,  he  desperately  said  that  he 
had  to  go  home  to  tease  the  cook — which  had  the 
rakehelly  air  he  thought  would  insure  his  release, 
but  was  not  considered  plausible.  However,  he  was 
finally  allowed  to  go,  and,  as  first  hints  of  evening 

20 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  21 

were  already  cooling  and  darkening  the  air,  the 
party  broke  up,  its  members  setting  forth,  whistling, 
toward  their  several  homes,  though  Penrod  lingered 
with  Sam.  Herman  was  the  last  to  go  from 
them. 

"Well,  I  got  git  'at  stove-wood  f  suppuh,"  he 
said,  rising  and  stretching  himself.  "I  got  git  'at 
HI'  soap-box  wagon,  an'  go  on  ovuh  wheres  'at  new 
house  buil'in'  on  Secon'  Street;  pick  up  few  shingles 
an'  blocks  layin'  roun'." 

He  went  through  the  yard  toward  the  alley,  and, 
at  the  alley  gate,  remembering  something,  he  paused 
and  called  to  them.  The  lot  was  a  deep  one,  and 
they  were  too  far  away  to  catch  his  meaning.  Sam 
shouted,  "Can't  hear  you,"  and  Herman  replied, 
but  still  unintelligibly;  then,  upon  Sam's  repetition 
of  "Can't  hear  you,"  Herman  waved  his  arm  in 
farewell,  implying  that  the  matter  was  of  little 
significance,  and  vanished.  But  if  they  had  under- 
stood him,  Penrod  and  Sam  might  have  considered 
his  inquiry  of  instant  importance,  for  Herman's  last 
shout  was  to  ask  if  either  of  them  had  noticed  "where 
Verman  went." 

Verman  and  Verman's  whereabouts  were,  at  this 
hour,  of  no  more  concern  to  Sam  and  Penrod  than 


22  PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  the  other  side  of  the  moon.  That  unfortunate 
bonded  prisoner  had  been  long  since  utterly  effaced 
from  their  fields  of  consciousness,  and  the  dark  secret 
of  their  Bastille  troubled  them  not — for  the  main 
and  simple  reason  that  they  had  forgotten  it. 

They  drifted  indoors,  and  found  Sam's  mother's 
white  cat  drowsing  on  a  desk  in  the  library,  the 
which  coincidence  obviously  inspired  the  experi- 
ment of  ascertaining  how  successfully  ink  could  be 
used  in  making  a  clean  white  cat  look  like  a  coach- 
dog.  There  was  neither  malice  nor  mischief  in  their 
idea;  simply,  a  problem  presented  itself  to  the  bio- 
logical and  artistic  questionings  beginning  to  stir 
within  them.  They  did  not  mean  to  do  the  cat  the 
slightest  injury  or  to  cause  her  any  pain.  They 
were  above  teasing  cats,  and  they  merely  detained 
this  one  and  made  her  feel  a  little  wet — at  consider- 
able cost  to  themselves  from  both  the  ink  and  the 
cat.  However,  at  the  conclusion  of  their  efforts, 
it  was  thought  safer  to  drop  the  cat  out  of  the  window 
before  anybody  came,  and,  after  some  hasty  work 
with  blotters,  the  desk  was  moved  to  cover  certain 
sections  of  the  rug,  and  the  two  boys  repaired  to 
the  bathroom  for  hot  water  and  soap.  They  knew 
they  had  done  nothing  wrong,  but  they  felt  easier 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  23 

when  the  only  traces  remaining  upon  them  were 
the  less  prominent  ones  upon  their  garments. 

These  precautions  taken,  it  was  time  for  them  to 
make  their  appearance  at  Penrod's  house  for  dinner, 
for  it  had  been  arranged,  upon  petition,  earlier  in 
the  day,  that  Sam  should  be  his  friend's  guest  for 
the  evening  meal.  Clean  to  the  elbows  and  with 
light  hearts,  they  set  forth.  They  marched,  whis- 
tling— though  not  producing  a  distinctly  musical 
effect,  since  neither  had  any  particular  air  in  mind 
— and  they  found  nothing  wrong  with  the  world; 
they  had  not  a  care.  Arrived  at  their  adjacent 
destination,  they  found  Miss  Margaret  Schofield 
just  entering  the  front  door. 

"Hurry,  boys!"  she  said.  "Mamma  came  home 
long  before  I  did,  and  I'm  sure  dinner  is  waiting. 
Run  on  out  to  the  dining-room  and  tell  them  I'll 
be  right  down." 

And,  as  they  obeyed,  she  mounted  the  stairs, 
humming  a  little  tune  and  unfastening  the  clasp  of 
the  long,  light-blue  military  cape  she  wore.  She 
went  to  her  own  quiet  room,  lit  the  gas,  removed  her 
hat,  and  placed  it  and  the  cape  upon  the  bed;  after 
which  she  gave  her  hair  a  push,  subsequent  to  her 
scrutiny  of  a  mirror;  then,  turning  out  the  light, 


24  PENROD  AND  SAM 

she  went  as  far  as  the  door.  Being  an  orderly  girl, 
she  returned  to  the  bed  and  took  the  cape  and  the 
hat  to  her  clothes-closet.  She  opened  the  door  of 
this  sanctuary,  and,  in  the  dark,  hung  her  cape  upon 
a  hook  and  placed  her  hat  upon  the  shelf.  Then  she 
closed  the  door  again,  having  noted  nothing  unusual, 
though  she  had  an  impression  that  the  place  needed 
airing.  She  descended  to  the  dinner  table. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  were  already 
occupied  with  the  meal,  and  the  visitor  was  replying 
politely,  in  his  non-masticatory  intervals,  to  inquiries 
concerning  the  health  of  his  relatives.  So  sweet  and 
assured  was  the  condition  of  Sam  and  Penrod,  that 
Margaret's  arrival  from  her  room  meant  nothing 
to  them.  Their  memories  were  not  stirred,  and  they 
continued  eating,  their  expressions  brightly  placid. 

But  from  out  of  doors  there  came  the  sound  of  a 
calling  and  questing  voice,  at  first  in  the  distance, 
then  growing  louder — coming  nearer. 

"Oh,  Ver-er-man!    O-o-o-oh,  Ver-er-ma-a-an ! " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Herman. 

"  Oo-o-o-o-oA,  Ver-er-er-ma-a-a-an!"  \ 

And  then  two  boys  sat  stricken  at  that  cheerful 
table  and  ceased  to  eat.  Recollection  awoke  with 
a  bang! 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  25 

"Oh,  my!"  Sam  gasped. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  said  Mr.  Schofield.  " Swal- 
low something  the  wrong  way,  Sam?" 

"Ye-es,  sir." 

"Oo-o-o-oh,  V er-er-er-ma-a-an  /" 

And  now  the  voice  was  near  the  windows  of  the 
dining-room. 

Penrod,  very  pale,  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
jumped  up. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  his  father  de- 
manded. "Sit  down!" 

"It's  Herman — that  coloured  boy  lives  in  the 
alley,"  said  Penrod  hoarsely.  "I — expect — I 
think " 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I  think  his  little  brother's  maybe  got  lost,  and 
Sam  and  I  better  go  help  look 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Mr.  Scho- 
field sharply.  "Sit  down  and  eat  your  dinner." 

In  a  palsy,  the  miserable  boy  resumed  his  seat. 
He  and  Sam  exchanged  a  single  dumb  glance;  then 
the  eyes  of  both  swung  fearfully  to  Margaret.  Her 
appearance  was  one  of  sprightly  content,  and,  from  a 
certain  point  of  view,  nothing  could  have  been  more 
alarming.  If  she  had  opened  her  closet  door  with- 


26  PENROD  AND  SAM 

out  discovering  Verman,  that  must  have  been  be- 
cause Verman  was  dead  and  Margaret  had  failed  to 
notice  the  body.  (Such  were  the  thoughts  of  Penrod 
and  Sam.)  But  she  might  not  have  opened  the 
closet  door.  And  whether  she  had  or  not,  Verman 
must  still  be  there,  alive  or  dead,  for  if  he  had  escaped 
he  would  have  gone  home,  and  their  ears  would  not 
be  ringing  with  the  sinister  and  melancholy  cry  that 
now  came  from  the  distance,  "Oo-o-oh,  Ver-er- 
ma-an  J" 

Verman,  in  his  seclusion,  did  not  hear  that  appeal 
from  his  brother;  there  were  too  many  walls  between 
them.  But  he  was  becoming  impatient  for  release, 
though,  all  in  all,  he  had  not  found  the  confinement 
intolerable  or  even  very  irksome.  His  character  was 
philosophic,  his  imagination  calm;  no  bugaboos  came 
to  trouble  him.  When  the  boys  closed  the  door  upon 
him,  he  made  himself  comfortable  upon  the  floor 
and,  for  a  time,  thoughtfully  chewed  a  patent-leather 
slipper  that  had  come  under  his  hand.  He  found 
the  patent  leather  not  unpleasant  to  his  palate, 
though  he  swallowed  only  a  portion  of  what  he  de- 
tached, not  being  hungry  at  that  time.  The  soul- 
fabric  of  Verman  was  of  a  fortunate  weave;  he  was 
not  a  seeker  and  questioner.  When  it  happened 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  27 

to  him  that  he  was  at  rest  in  a  shady  corner,  he 
did  not  even  think  about  a  place  in  the  sun.  Verman 
took  life  as  it  came. 

Naturally,  he  fell  asleep.  And  toward  the  con- 
clusion of  his  slumbers,  he  had  this  singular  adven- 
ture: a  lady  set  her  foot  down  within  less  than 
half  an  inch  of  his  nose — and  neither  of  them  knew 
it.  Verman  slept  on,  without  being  wakened  by 
either  the  closing  or  the  opening  of  the  door.  What 
did  rouse  him  was  something  ample  and  soft  falling 
upon  him — Margaret's  cape,  which  slid  from  the 
hook  after  she  had  gone. 

Enveloped  in  its  folds,  Verman  sat  up,  corkscrew- 
ing his  knuckles  into  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  Slowly 
he  became  aware  of  two  important  vacuums — one  in 
time  and  one  in  his  stomach.  Hours  had  vanished 
strangely  into  nowhere;  the  game  of  bonded  prisoner 
was  something  cloudy  and  remote  of  the  long,  long 
ago,  and,  although  Verman  knew  where  he  was,  he 
had  partially  forgotten  how  he  came  there.  He 
perceived,  however,  that  something  had  gone  wrong, 
for  he  was  certain  that  he  ought  not  to  be  where  he 
found  himself. 

White-Folks9  House  I  The  fact  that  Verman  could 
not  have  pronounced  these  words  rendered  them  no 


28  PENROD  AND  SAM 

less  clear  in  his  mind;  they  began  to  stir  his  appre- 
hension, and  nothing  becomes  more  rapidly  tumul- 
tuous than  apprehension  once  it  is  stirred.  That  he 
might  possibly  obtain  release  by  making  a  noise  was 
too  daring  a  thought  and  not  even  conceived,  much 
less  entertained,  by  the  little  and  humble  Verman. 
For,  with  the  bewildering  gap  of  his  slumber  be- 
tween him  and  previous  events,  he  did  not  place  the 
responsibility  for  his  being  in  White-Folks'  House 
upon  the  white  folks  who  had  put  him  there.  His 
state  of  mind  was  that  of  the  stable-puppy  who 
knows  he  must  not  be  found  in  the  parlour.  Not 
thrice  in  his  life  had  Verman  been  within  the  doors 
of  White-Folks'  House,  and,  above  all  things,  he 
felt  that  it  was  in  some  undefined  way  vital  to  him 
to  get  out  of  White-Folks'  House  unobserved  and 
unknown.  It  was  in  his  very  blood  to  be  sure  of 
that. 

Further  than  this  point,  the  processes  of  Verman's 
mind  become  mysterious  to  the  observer.  It  ap- 
pears, however,  that  he  had  a  definite  (though  some- 
what primitive)  conception  of  the  usefulness  of  dis- 
guise; and  he  must  have  begun  his  preparations  be- 
fore he  heard  footsteps  in  the  room  outside  his  closed 
door. 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  29 

These  footsteps  were  Margaret's.  Just  as  Mr. 
Schofield's  coffee  was  brought,  and  just  after  Penrod 
had  been  baffled  in  another  attempt  to  leave  the 
table,  Margaret  rose  and  patted  her  father  imper- 
tinently upon  the  head. 

"You  can't  bully  me  that  way!"  she  said.  "I 
got  home  too  late  to  dress,  and  I'm  going  to  a  dance. 
'Scuse!" 

And  she  began  her  dancing  on  the  spot,  pirouetting 
herself  swiftly  out  of  the  room,  and  was  immedi- 
ately heard  running  up  the  stairs. 

"Penrod!"  Mr.  Schofield  shouted.  "Sit  down! 
How  many  times  am  I  going  to  tell  you?  What 
is  the  matter  with  you  to-night?" 

"I  got  to  go,"  gasped  Penrod.  "I  got  to  tell 
Margaret  sump  thing." 

"What  have  you  'got'  to  tell  her?" 

"It's— it's  sumpthing  I  forgot  to  tell  her." 

"Well,  it  will  keep  till  she  comes  downstairs," 
said  Mr.  Schofield  grimly.  "You  sit  down  till  this 
meal  is  finished." 

Penrod  was  becoming  frantic. 

"I  got  to  tell  her — it's  sumpthing  Sam's  mother 
told  me  to  tell  her,"  he  babbled.  " Didn't  she,  Sam? 
You  heard  her  tell  me  to  tell  her;  didn't  you,  Sam?'* 


30  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Sam  offered  prompt  corroboration. 

"Yes,  sir;  she  did.  She  said  for  us  both  to  tell 
her.  I  better  go,  too,  I  guess,  because  she  said ' 

He  was  interrupted.  Startlingly  upon  their  ears 
rang  shriek  on  shriek.  Mrs.  Schofield,  recognizing 
Margaret's  voice,  likewise  shrieked,  and  Mr.  Scho- 
field uttered  various  sounds,  but  Penrod  and  Sam 
were  incapable  of  doing  anything  vocally.  All  rushed 
from  the  table. 

Margaret  continued  to  shriek,  and  it  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  there  was  some  cause  for  her  agitation. 
When  she  opened  the  closet  door,  her  light-blue 
military  cape,  instead  of  hanging  on  the  hook  where 
she  had  left  it,  came  out  into  the  room  in  a  manner 
which  she  afterward  described  as  "a  kind  of  horrible 
creep,  but  faster  than  a  creep."  Nothing  was  to  be 
seen  except  the  creeping  cape,  she  said,  but,  of  course, 
she  could  tell  there  was  some  awful  thing  inside  of 
it.  It  was  too  large  to  be  a  cat,  and  too  small  to  be  a 
boy;  it  was  too  large  to  be  Duke,  Penrod's  little  old 
dog,  and,  besides,  Duke  wouldn't  act  like  that.  It 
crept  rapidly  out  into  the  upper  hall,  and  then,  as  she 
recovered  the  use  of  her  voice  and  began  to  scream, 
the  animated  cape  abandoned  its  creeping  for  a 
quicker  gait — "a  weird,  heaving  flop,"  she  defined  it. 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  31 

The  Thing  then  decided  upon  a  third  style  of 
locomotion,  evidently,  for  when  Sam  and  Penrod 
reached  the  front  hall,  a  few  steps  in  advance  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Schofield,  it  was  rolling  grandly  down 
the  stairs. 

Mr.  Schofield  had  only  a  hurried  glimpse  of  it  as 
it  reached  the  bottom,  close  by  the  front  door. 

"Grab  that  thing!"  he  shouted,  dashing  forward. 
"Stop  it!  Hit  it!" 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Sam  Williams  dis- 
played the  presence  of  mind  which  was  his  most 
eminent  characteristic.  Sam's  wonderful  instinct 
for  the  right  action  almost  never  failed  him  in  a 
crisis,  and  it  did  not  fail  him  now.  Leaping  to  the 
door,  at  the  very  instant  when  the  rolling  cape 
touched  it,  Sam  flung  the  door  open — and  the  cape 
rolled  on.  With  incredible  rapidity  and  intelligence, 
it  rolled,  indeed,  out  into  the  night. 

Penrod  jumped  after  it,  and  the  next  second  re- 
appeared in  the  doorway  holding  the  cape.  He 
shook  out  its  folds,  breathing  hard  but  acquiring 
confidence.  In  fact,  he  was  able  to  look  up  in  his 
father's  face  and  say,  with  bright  ingenuousness 

"It  was  just  laying  there.  Do  you  know  what  I 
think?  Well,  it  couldn't  have  acted  that  way  itself. 


32  PENROD  AND  SAM 

/  think  there  must  have  been  sumpthing  kind  of 
inside  of  it!" 

Mr.  Schofield  shook  his  head  slowly,  in  marvelling 
admiration. 

"Brilliant — oh,  brilliant!"  he  murmured,  while 
Mrs.  Schofield  ran  to  support  the  enfeebled  form  of 
Margaret  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

.  .  .  In  the  library ,  after  Margaret's  departure  to 
her  dance,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Schofield  were  still  discuss- 
ing the  visitation,  Penrod  having  accompanied  his 
homeward-bound  guest  as  far  as  the  front  gate. 

"No;  you're  wrong,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield,  uphold- 
ing a  theory,  earlier  developed  by  Margaret,  that 
the  animated  behaviour  of  the  cape  could  be  satis- 
factorily explained  on  no  other  ground  than  the 
supernatural.  "You  see,  the  boys  saying  they 
couldn't  remember  what  Mrs.  Williams  wanted 
them  to  tell  Margaret,  and  that  probably  she  hadn't 
told  them  anything  to  tell  her,  because  most  likely 
they'd  misunderstood  something  she  said — well,  of 
course,  all  that  does  sound  mixed-up  and  peculiar, 
but  they  sound  that  way  about  half  the  time,  any- 
how. No;  it  couldn't  possibly  have  had  a  thing  to 
do  with  it.  They  were  right  there  at  the  table  with 
us  all  the  time,  and  they  came  straight  to  the  table 


THE  BONDED  PRISONER  33 

the  minute  they  entered  the  house.  Before  that, 
they'd  been  over  at  Sam's  all  afternoon.  So,  it 
couldn't  have  been  the  boys."  Mrs.  Schofield  paused 
to  ruminate  with  a  little  air  of  pride,  then  added: 
"Margaret  has  often  thought — oh,  long  before  this! 
— that  she  was  a  medium.  I  mean — if  she  would 
let  herself.  So  it  wasn't  anything  the  boys  did." 

Mr.  Schofield  grunted. 

"I'll  admit  this  much,"  he  said.  "I'll  admit  it 
wasn't  anything  we'll  ever  get  out  of  'em." 

And  the  remarks  of  Sam  and  Penrod,  taking  leave 
of  each  other,  one  on  each  side  of  the  gate,  appeared 
to  corroborate  Mr.  Schofield's  opinion. 

"Well,  g'-night,  Penrod,"  Sam  said.  "It  was 
a  pretty  good  Saturday,  wasn't  it?" 

"Fine!"  said  Penrod  casually.     "G'-night,  Sam." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  MILITARIST 

PENROD  SCHOFIELD,  having  been  "kept 
in"  for  the  unjust  period  of  twenty  minutes 
after  school,  emerged  to  a  deserted  street. 
That  is,  the  street  was  deserted  so  far  as  Penrod 
was  concerned.  Here  and  there  people  were  to  be 
seen  upon  the  sidewalks,  but  they  were  adults,  and 
they  and  the  shade  trees  had  about  the  same  qual- 
ity of  significance  in  Penrod's  consciousness.  Usu- 
ally he -saw  grown  people  in  the  mass,  which  is  to 
say,  they  were  virtually  invisible  to  him,  though 
exceptions  must  be  taken  in  favour  of  policemen, 
firemen,  street-car  conductors,  motormen,  and  all 
other  men  in  any  sort  of  uniform  or  regalia.  But 
this  afternoon  none  of  these  met  the  roving  eye, 
and  Penrod  set  out  upon  his  homeward  way  wholly 
dependent  upon  his  own  resources. 

To  one  of  Penrod's  inner  texture,  a  mere  un- 
adorned walk  from  one  point  to  another  was  intol- 
erable, and  he  had  not  gone  a  block  without  achiev- 

34 


THE  MILITARIST  35 

ing  some  slight  remedy  for  the  tameness  of  life.  An 
electric-light  pole  at  the  corner,  invested  with  powers 
of  observation,  might  have  been  surprised  to  find 
itself  suddenly  enacting  a  role  of  dubious  honour  in 
improvised  melodrama.  Penrod,  approaching,  gave 
the  pole  a  look  of  sharp  suspicion,  then  one  of  con- 
viction; slapped  it  lightly  and  contemptuously  with 
his  open  hand;  passed  on  a  few  paces,  but  turned 
abruptly,  and,  pointing  his  right  forefinger,  uttered 
the  symbolic  word,  "Bing!" 

The  plot  was  somewhat  indefinite;  yet  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  that  the  electric-light  pole  had 
first  attempted  something  against  him,  then  growing 
bitter  when  slapped,  and  stealing  after  him  to  take 
him  treacherously  in  the  back,  had  got  itself  shot 
through  and  through  by  one  too  old  in  such  warfare 
to  be  caught  off  his  guard. 

Leaving  the  body  to  lie  where  it  was,  he  placed  the 
smoking  pistol  in  a  holster  at  his  saddlebow — he 
had  decided  that  he  was  mounted — and  proceeded 
up  the  street.  At  intervals  he  indulged  himself  in 
other  encounters,  reining  in  at  first  suspicion  of 
ambush  with  a  muttered,  "Whoa,  Charlie!"  or 
"Whoa,  Mike!"  or  even  "Whoa,  Washington!" 
for  preoccupation  with  the  enemy  outweighed  at- 


36  PENROD  AND  SAM 

tention  to  the  details  of  theatrical  consistency, 
though  the  steed's  varying  names  were  at  least  har- 
moniously masculine,  since  a  boy,  in  these  creative 
moments,  never  rides  a  mare.  And  having  brought 
Charlie  or  Mike  or  Washington  to  a  standstill, 
Penrod  would  draw  the  sure  weapon  from  its  holster 
and— "Bing!  Bing!  Bing!"— let  them  have  it. 

It  is  not  to  be  understood  that  this  was  a  noisy 
performance,  or  even  an  obvious  one.  It  attracted 
no  attention  from  any  pedestrian,  and  it  was  to  be 
perceived  only  that  a  boy  was  proceeding  up  the 
street  at  a  somewhat  irregular  gait.  Three  or  four 
years  earlier,  when  Penrod  was  seven  or  eight,  he 
would  have  shouted  "Bing!"  at  the  top  of  his  voice; 
he  would  have  galloped  openly;  all  the  world  might 
have  seen  that  he  bestrode  a  charger.  But  a  change 
had  come  upon  him  with  advancing  years.  Al- 
though the  grown  people  in  sight  were  indeed  to 
him  as  walking  trees,  his  dramas  were  accomplished 
principally  by  suggestion  and  symbol.  His  "  Whoas" 
and  "Bings"  were  delivered  in  a  husky  whisper,  and 
his  equestrianism  was  established  by  action  mostly 
of  the  mind,  the  accompanying  artistry  of  the  feet 
being  unintelligible  to  the  passerby. 

And  yet,  though  he  concealed  from  observation 


THE  MILITARIST  37 

the  stirring  little  scenes  he  thus  enacted,  a  love  of 
realism  was  increasing  within  him.  Early  childhood 
is  not  fastidious  about  the  accessories  of  its  drama — 
a  cane  is  vividly  a  gun  which  may  instantly,  as 
vividly,  become  a  horse;  but  at  Penrod's  time  of  life 
the  lath  sword  is  no  longer  satisfactory.  Indeed, 
he  now  had  a  vague  sense  that  weapons  of  wood 
were  unworthy  to  the  point  of  being  contemptible 
and  ridiculous,  and  he  employed  them  only  when 
he  was  alone  and  unseen.  For  months  a  yearning 
had  grown  more  and  more  poignant  in  his  vitals, 
and  this  yearning  was  symbolized  by  one  of  his  most 
profound  secrets.  In  the  inner  pocket  of  his  jacket 
he  carried  a  bit  of  wood  whittled  into  the  distant 
likeness  of  a  pistol,  but  not  even  Sam  Williams 
had  seen  it.  The  wooden  pistol  never  knew  the 
light  of  day,  save  when  Penrod  was  in  solitude; 
and  yet  it  never  left  his  side  except  at  night,  when  it 
was  placed  under  his  pillow.  Still,  it  did  not  satisfy; 
it  was  but  the  token  of  his  yearning  and  his  dream. 
With  all  his  might  and  main  Penrod  longed  for  one 
thing  beyond  all  others.  He  wanted  a  Real  Pistol! 
That  was  natural.  Pictures  of  real  pistols  being 
used  to  magnificently  romantic  effect  were  upon  al- 
most all  the  billboards  in  town,  the  year  round; 


38  PENROD  AND  SAM 

and  as  for  the  "movie"  shows,  they  could  not  have 
lived  an  hour  unpistoled.  In  the  drug  store,  where 
Penrod  bought  his  candy  and  soda  when  he  was  in 
funds,  he  would  linger  to  turn  the  pages  of  periodicals 
whose  illustrations  were  fascinatingly  pistolic.  Some 
of  the  magazines  upon  the  very  library  table  at 
home  were  sprinkled  with  pictures  of  people  (usually 
in  evening  clothes)  pointing  pistols  at  other  people. 
Nay,  the  Library  Board  of  the  town  had  emitted  a 
"Selected  List  of  Fifteen  Books  for  Boys,"  and 
Penrod  had  read  fourteen  of  them  with  pleasure, 
but  as  the  fifteenth  contained  no  weapons  in  the 
earlier  chapters  and  held  forth  little  prospect  of  any 
shooting  at  all,  he  abandoned  it  halfway,  and  read 
the  most  sanguinary  of  the  other  fourteen  over 
again.  So,  the  daily  food  of  his  imagination  being 
gun,  what  wonder  that  he  thirsted  for  the  Real! 

He  passed  from  the  sidewalk  into  his  own  yard, 
with  a  subdued  "Bing!"  inflicted  upon  the  stolid 
person  of  a  gatepost,  and,  entering  the  house  through 
the  kitchen,  ceased  to  bing  for  a  time.  However, 
driven  back  from  the  fore  part  of  the  house  by  a 
dismal  sound  of  callers,  he  returned  to  the  kitchen 
and  sat  down. 

"Delia,"  he  said  to  the  cook,  "do  you  know  what 


THE  MILITARIST  39 

I'd  do  if  you  was  a  crook  and  I  had  my  ottomatic 
with  me?" 

Delia  was  industrious  and  preoccupied.  "If  I  was 
a  cook!"  she  repeated  ignorantly,  and  with  no  cor- 
diality. "Well,  I  am  a  cook.  I'm  a-cookin'  right 
now.  Either  g'wan  in  the  house  where  y'b'long,  or 
git  out  in  th'  yard!" 

Penrod  chose  the  latter,  and  betook  himself  slowly 
to  the  back  fence,  where  he  was  greeted  in  a  boister- 
ous manner  by  his  wistful  little  old  dog,  Duke,  re- 
turning from  some  affair  of  his  own  in  the  alley. 

"Get  down!"  said  Penrod  coldly,  and  bestowed  a 
spiritless  "Bing!"  upon  him. 

At  this  moment  a  shout  was  heard  from  the  alley, 
"Yay,  Penrod!"  and  the  sandy  head  of  comrade 
Sam  Williams  appeared  above  the  fence. 

/'Come  on  over,"  said  Penrod. 
/As  Sam  obediently  climbed  the  fence,  the  little 
old  dog,  Duke,  moved  slowly  away,  but  presently, 
glancing  back  over  his  shoulder  and  seeing  the  two 
boys  standing  together,  he  broke  into  a  trot  and 
disappeared  round  a  corner  of  the  house.  He  was 
a  dog  of  long  and  enlightening  experience;  and  he 
made  it  clear  that  the  conjunction  of  Penrod  and 
Sam  portended  events  which,  from  his  point  of  view, 


40  PENROD  AND  SAM 

might  be  unfortunate.  Duke  had  a  forgiving  dis- 
position, but  he  also  possessed  a  melancholy  wisdom. 
In  the  company  of  either  Penrod  or  Sam,  alone,  af- 
fection often  caused  him  to  linger,  albeit  with  a  little 
pessimism,  but  when  he  saw  them  together,  he  in- 
variably withdrew  in  as  unobtrusive  a  manner  as 
haste  would  allow. 

"What  you  doin'?"  Sam  asked. 

"Nothin'.     What  you?" 

"I'll  show  you  if  you'll  come  over  to  our  house," 
said  Sam,  who  was  wearing  an  important  and  secre- 
tive expression. 

"What  for?"     Penrod  showed  little  interest. 

"Well,  I  said  I'd  show  you  if  you  came  on  over, 
didn't  I?" 

"But  you  haven't  got  anything  I  haven't  got," 
said  Penrod  indifferently.  "I  know  everything 
that's  in  your  yard  and  in  your  stable,  and  there 
isn't  a  thing " 

"I  didn't  say  it  was  in  the  yard  or  in  the  stable, 
did  I?" 

"Well,  there  ain't  anything  in  your  house,"  re- 
turned Penrod  frankly,  "that  I'd  walk  two  feet  to 
look  at — not  a  thing!" 

"Oh,   no!"   Sam   assumed   mockery.     "Oh,   no, 


THE  MILITARIST  41 

you  wouldn't!  You  know  what  it  is,  don't  you? 
Yes,  you  do ! " 

Penrod's  curiosity  stirred  somewhat. 

"Well,  all  right,"  he  said,  "I  got  nothin'  to  do. 
I  just  as  soon  go.  What  is  it?" 

"You  wait  and  see,"  said  Sam,  as  they  climbed 
the  fence.  "I  bet  your  ole  eyes'll  open  pretty  far 
in  about  a  minute  or  so!" 

"I  bet  they  don't.  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  get  me 
excited,  unless  it's  sumpthing  mighty " 

"You'll  see!"  Sam  promised. 

He  opened  an  alley  gate  and  stepped  into  his  own 
yard  in  a  manner  signalling  caution — though  the 
exploit,  thus  far,  certainly  required  none — and  Pen- 
rod  began  to  be  impressed  and  hopeful.  They 
entered  the  house,  silently,  encountering  no  one, 
and  Sam  led  the  way  upstairs,  tiptoeing,  implying 
unusual  and  increasing  peril.  Turning,  in  the  upper 
hall,  they  went  into  Sam's  father's  bedroom,  and 
Sam  closed  the  door  with  a  caution  so  genuine  that 
already  Penrod's  eyes  began  to  fulfil  his  host's  pre- 
diction. Adventures  in  another  boy's  house  are 
trying  to  the  nerves;  and  another  boy's  father's 
bedroom,  when  invaded,  has  a  violated  sanctity 
that  is  almost  appalling.  Penrod  felt  that  some- 


42  PENROD  AND  SAM 

thing  was  about  to  happen — something  much  more 
important  than  he  had  anticipated. 

Sam  tiptoed  across  the  room  to  a  chest  of  drawers, 
and,  kneeling,  carefully  pulled  out  the  lowest  drawer 
until  the  surface  of  its  contents — Mr.  Williams' 
whiter  underwear — lay  exposed.  Then  he  fumbled 
beneath  the  garments  and  drew  forth  a  large  object, 
displaying  it  triumphantly  to  the  satisfactorily  dum- 
founded  Penrod. 

It  was  a  blue-steel  Colt's  revolver,  of  the  heaviest 
pattern  made  in  the  Seventies.  Mr.  Williams  had 
inherited  it  from  Sam's  grandfather  (a  small  man,  a 
deacon,  and  dyspeptic)  and  it  was  larger  and  more 
horrible  than  any  revolver  either  of  the  boys  had 
ever  seen  in  any  picture,  moving  or  stationary. 
Moreover,  greenish  bullets  of  great  size  were  to  be 
seen  in  the  chambers  of  the  cylinder,  suggesting 
massacre  rather  than  mere  murder.  This  revolver 
was  Real  and  it  was  Loaded! 


CHAPTER  IV 

BINGISM 

BOTH  boys  lived  breathlessly  through  a  mag- 
nificent moment. 
" Leave    me    have   it!"   gasped   Penrod. 
"Leave  me  have  hold  of  it!" 

"You  wait  a  minute ! "  Sam  protested,  in  a  whisper. 
"I  want  to  show  you  how  I  do." 

"No;  you  let  me  show  you  how  I  do!"  Penrod 
insisted;  and  they  scuffled  for  possession. 

"Look  out!"  Sam  whispered  warningly.  "It 
might  go  off." 

"Then  you  better  leave  me  have  it!"  And  Pen- 
rod,  victorious  and  flushed,  stepped  back,  the  wea- 
pon in  his  grasp.  "Here,"  he  said,  "this  is  the 
way  I  do:  You  be  a  crook;  and  suppose  you  got  a 
dagger,  and  I " 

"I  don't  want  any  dagger,"  Sam  protested,  ad- 
vancing. "I  want  that  revolaver.  It's  my  father's 
revolaver,  ain't  it?  " 

"Well,  wait  a  minute,  can't  you?     I  got  a  right  to 

43 


44  PENROD  AND  SAM 

show  you  the  way  I  do,  first,  haven't  I?"  Penrod 
began  an  improvisation  on  the  spot.  "Say  I'm 
comin'  along  after  dark  like  this — look,  Sam!  And 
say  you  try  to  make  a  jump  at  me " 

"I  won't!"  Sam  declined  this  role  impatiently. 
"I  guess  it  ain't  your  father's  revolaver,  is  it?" 

"Well,  it  may  be  your  father's  but  it  ain't  yours," 
Penrod  argued,  becoming  logical.  "It  ain't  cither's 
of  us  revolaver,  so  I  got  as  much  right " 

"You  haven't  either.     It's  my  fath " 

"Watch,  can't  you — just  a  minute!"  Penrod  urged 
vehemently.  "I'm  not  goin*  to  keep  it,  am  I? 
You  can  have  it  when  I  get  through,  can't  you? 
Here's  how  7  do:  I'm  comin'  along  after  dark,  just 
walkin'  along  this  way — like  this — look,  Sam!" 

Penrod,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  walked  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  swinging  the  revolver  at 
his  side  with  affected  carelessness. 

"I'm  just  walkin'  along  like  this,  and  first  I  don't 
see  you,"  continued  the  actor.  "Then  I  kind  of 
get  a  notion  sumpthing  wrong's  liable  to  happen, 

so  I No!"  He  interrupted  himself  abruptly. 

"No;  that  isn't  it.  You  wouldn't  notice  that  I 
had  my  good  ole  revolaver  with  me.  You  wouldn't 
think  I  had  one,  because  it'd  be  under  my  coat  like 


BINGISM  45 

this,  and  you  wouldn't  see  it."  Penrod  stuck  the 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  into  the  waistband  of  his  knicker- 
bockers at  the  left  side  and,  buttoning  his  jacket, 
sustained  the  weapon  in  concealment  by  pressure 
of  his  elbow.  "So  you  think  I  haven't  got  any; 
you  think  I'm  just  a  man  comin*  along,  and  so 
you " 

Sam  advanced.  "Well,  you've  had  your  turn," 
he  said.  "Now,  it's  mine.  I'm  goin'  to  show  you 
how  I " 

"Watch  me,  can't  you?"  Penrod  wailed.  "I 
haven't  showed  you  how  I  do,  have  I?  My  good- 
ness! Can't  you  watch  me  a  minute?" 

"I  have  been!  You  said  yourself  it'd  be  my  turn 
soon  as  you " 

"My  goodness!  Let  me  have  a  chance,  can't 
you?"  Penrod  retreated  to  the  wall,  turning  his 
right  side  toward  Sam  and  keeping  the  revolver  still 
protected  under  his  coat.  "I  got  to  have  my  turn 
first,  haven't  I?" 

"Well,  yours  is  over  long  ago." 

"It  isn't  either!    I " 

"Anyway,"  said  Sam  decidedly,  clutching  him 
by  the  right  shoulder  and  endeavouring  to  reach  his 
left  side — "anyway,  I'm  goin'  to  have  it  now." 


46  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"You  said  I  could  have  my  turn  out!"  Penrod, 
carried  away  by  indignation,  raised  his  voice. 

"I  did  not!"  Sam,  likewise  lost  to  caution,  as- 
serted his  denial  loudly. 

"You  did,  too." 

"You  said " 

"I  never  said  anything!" 

"  You  said Quit  that ! " 

"Boys!"  Mrs.  Williams,  Sam's  mother,  opened 
the  door  of  the  room  and  stood  upon  the  threshold. 
The  scuffling  of  Sam  and  Penrod  ceased  instantly, 
and  they  stood  hushed  and  stricken,  while  fear  fell 
upon  them.  "Boys,  you  weren't  quarrelling,  were 
you?" 

"Ma'am?"  said  Sam. 

"Were  you  quarrelling  with  Penrod?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  answered  Sam  in  a  small  voice. 

" It  sounded  like  it.     What  was  the  matter? " 

Both  boys  returned  her  curious  glance  with  meek- 
ness. They  were  summoning  their  faculties — which 
were  needed.  Indeed,  these  are  the  crises  which 
prepare  a  boy  for  the  business  difficulties  of  his  later 
life.  Penrod,  with  the  huge  weapon  beneath  his 
jacket,  insecurely  supported  by  an  elbow  and 
by  a  waistband  which  he  instantly  began  to 


BINGISM  47 

distrust,  experienced  distressful  sensations  similar 
to  those  of  the  owner  of  too  heavily  insured 
property  carrying  a  gasoline  can  under  his  overcoat 
and  detained  for  conversation  by  a  policeman.  £nd 
if,  in  the  coming  years,  it  was  to  be  Penrod's  lot  to 
find  himself  in  that  precise  situation,  no  doubt  he 
would  be  the  better  prepared  for  it  on  account  of 
this  present  afternoon's  experience  under  the  scald- 
ing eye  of  Mrs.  Williams.  It  should  be  added  that 
Mrs.  Williams's  eye  was  awful  to  the  imagination 
only.  It  was  a  gentle  eye  and  but  mildly  curious, 
having  no  remote  suspicion  of  the  dreadful  truth, 
for  Sam  had  backed  upon  the  chest  of  drawers  and 
closed  the  damnatory  open  one  with  the  calves  of  his 
legs. 

Sam,  not  bearing  the  fatal  evidence  upon  his 
person,  was  in  a  better  state  than  Penrod,  though 
when  boys  fall  into  the  stillness  now  assumed  by 
these  two,  it  should  be  understood  that  they  are 
suffering.  Penrod,  in  fact,  was  the  prey  to  appre- 
hension so  keen  that  the  actual  pit  of  his  stomach 
was  cold. 

Being  the  actual  custodian  of  the  crime,  he  under- 
stood that  his  case  was  several  degrees  more  serious 
than  that  of  Sam,  who,  in  the  event  of  detection, 


48  PENROD  AND  SAM 

would  be  convicted  as  only  an  accessory.  It  was  a 
lesson,  and  Penrod  already  repented  his  selfishness  in 
not  allowing  Sam  to  show  how  he  did,  first. 

"You're  sure  you  weren't  quarrelling,  Sam?"  said 
Mrs.  Williams. 

"No,  ma'am;  we  were  just  talking.' 

Still  she  seemed  dimly  uneasy,  and  her  eye  swung 
to  Penrod. 

"What  were  you  and  Sam  talking  about,  Penrod?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"What  were  you  talking  about?" 

Penrod  gulped  invisibly. 

"Well,"  he  murmured,  "it  wasn't  much.  Dif- 
ferent things." 

"What  things?" 

"Oh,  just  sumpthing.     Different  things." 

"I'm  glad  you  weren't  quarrelling,"  said  Mrs. 
Williams,  reassured  by  this  reply,  which,  though 
somewhat  baffling,  was  thoroughly  familiar  to  her 
ear.  "Now,  if  you'll  come  downstairs,  I'll  give  you 
each  one  cookie  and  no  more,  so  your  appetites 
won't  be  spoiled  for  your  dinners." 

She  stood,  evidently  expecting  them  to  precede 
her.  To  linger  might  renew  vague  suspicion,  caus- 
ing it  to  become  more  definite;  and  boys  preserve 


BINGISM  49 

themselves  from  moment  to  moment,  not  often 
attempting  to  secure  the  future.  Consequently, 
the  apprehensive  Sam  and  the  unfortunate  Penrod 
(with  the  monstrous  implement  bulking  against  his 
ribs)  walked  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs, 
their  countenances  indicating  an  interior  condition 
of  solemnity.  And  a  curious  shade  of  behaviour 
might  have  here  interested  a  criminologist.  Penrod 
endeavoured  to  keep  as  close  to  Sam  as  possible, 
like  a  lonely  person  seeking  company,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  Sam  kept  moving  away  from  Penrod, 
seeming  to  desire  an  appearance  of  aloofness. 

"Go  into  the  library,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Williams, 
as  the  three  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "I'll 
bring  you  your  cookies.  Papa's  in  there." 

Under  her  eye  the  two  entered  the  library,  to 
find  Mr.  Williams  reading  his  evening  paper.  He 
looked  up  pleasantly,  but  it  seemed  to  Penrod 
that  he  had  an  ominous  and  penetrating  expres- 
sion. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to,  you  boys?"  inquired 
this  enemy. 

"Nothing,"  said  Sam.     "Different  things." 

"What  like?" 

"Oh— just  different  things." 


50  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Mr.  Williams  nodded;  then  his  glance  rested  cas- 
ually upon  Penrod. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  arm,  Penrod?" 

Penrod  became  paler,  and  Sam  withdrew  from  him 
almost  conspicuously. 

"Sir?" 

"I  said,  What's  the  matter  with  your  arm?" 

"Which  one?"  Penrod  quavered. 

"Your  left.  You  seem  to  be  holding  it  in  an 
unnatural  position.  Have  you  hurt  it?" 

Penrod  swallowed.  "Yes,  sir.  A  boy  bit  me — I 
mean  a  dog — a  dog  bit  me." 

Mr.  Williams  murmured  sympathetically :  "  That's 
too  bad!  Where  did  he  bite  you?" 

"On  the— right  on  the  elbow." 

"Good  gracious!  Perhaps  you  ought  to  have  it 
cauterized." 

"Sir?" 

"Did  you  have  a  doctor  look  at  it?" 

"No,  sir.  My  mother  put  some  stuff  from  the 
drug  store  on  it." 

"Oh,  I  see.     Probably  it's  all  right,  then." 

"Yes,  sir."  Penrod  drew  breath  more  freely,  and 
accepted  the  warm  cookie  Mrs.  Williams  brought 
him.  He  ate  it  without  relish. 


BINGISM  51 

"You  can  have  only  one  apiece,"  she  said.  "It's 
too  near  dinner-time.  You  needn't  beg  for  any 
more,  because  you  can't  have  'em." 

They  were  good  about  that;  they  were  in  no  frame 
of  digestion  for  cookies. 

"  Was  it  your  own  dog  that  bit  you? "  Mr.  Williams 
inquired. 

"  Sir?    No,  sir.     It  wasn't  Duke." 

"Penrod!"  Mrs.  Williams  exclaimed.  "When 
did  it  happen?" 

"I  don't  remember  just  when,"  he  answered 
feebly.  "I  guess  it  was  day  before  yesterday." 

"  Gracious !     How  did  it " 

"He — he  just  came  up  and  bit  me." 

"Why,  that's  terrible!  It  might  be  dangerous 
for  other  children,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  with  a 
solicitous  glance  at  Sam.  "Don't  you  know  whom 
he  belongs  to?" 

"No'm.     It  was  just  a  dog." 

"You  poor  boy!  Your  mother  must  have  been 
dreadfully  frightened  when  you  came  home  and 
she  saw " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  middle- 
aged  coloured  woman.  "Miz  Williams,"  she  began, 
and  then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Penrod,  she  ad- 


52  PENROD  AND  SAM 

dressed  him  directly,  "  You'  ma  telef oam  if  you  here, 
send  you  home  right  away,  'cause  they  waitin' 
dinner  on  you." 

"Run  along,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  patting 
the  visitor  lightly  upon  his  shoulder;  and  she  ac- 
companied him  to  the  front  door.  "Tell  your 
mother  I'm  so  sorry  about  your  getting  bitten,  and 
you  must  take  good  care  of  it,  Penrod." 

"Yes'm." 

Penrod  lingered  helplessly  outside  the  doorway, 
looking  at  Sam,  who  stood  partially  obscured  in  the 
hall,  behind  Mrs.  Williams.  Penrod's  eyes,  with  a 
veiled  anguish,  conveyed  a  pleading  for  help  as  well 
as  a  horror  of  the  position  in  which  he  found  him- 
self. Sam,  however,  pale  and  determined,  seemed 
to  have  assumed  a  stony  attitude  of  detachment, 
as  if  it  were  well  understood  between  them  that 
his  own  comparative  innocence  was  established, 
and  that  whatever  catastrophe  ensued,  Penrod  had 
brought  it  on  and  must  bear  the  brunt  of  it 
alone. 

"Well,  you'd  better  run  along,  since  they're  wait- 
ing for  you  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  closing 
the  door.  "  Good-night,  Penrod."  > 

.     .     .     Ten  minutes  later  Penrod  took  his  place 


BINGISM  53 

at  his  own  dinner-table,  somewhat  breathless  but 
with  an  expression  of  perfect  composure. 

"Can't  you  ever  come  home  without  being  tele- 
phoned for?"  demanded  his  father. 

"Yes,  sir."  And  Penrod  added  reproachfully, 
placing  the  blame  upon  members  of  Mr.  Schofield's 
own  class,  "Sam's  mother  and  father  kept  me,  or 
I'd  been  home  long  ago.  They  would  keep  on 
talkin',  and  I  guess  I  had  to  be  polite,  didn't  I?" 

His  left  arm  was  as  free  as  his  right;  there  was  no 
dreadful  bulk  beneath  his  jacket,  and  at  Penrod's 
age  the  future  is  too  far  away  to  be  worried  about. 
The  difference  between  temporary  security  and 
permanent  security  is  left  for  grown  people.  To 
Penrod,  security  was  security,  and  before  his  dinner 
was  half  eaten  his  spirit  had  become  fairly  serene. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  entered  the  empty  carriage- 
house  of  the  stable,  on  his  return  from  school  the 
next  afternoon,  his  expression  was  not  altogether 
without  apprehension,  and  he  stood  in  the  doorway 
looking  well  about  him  before  he  lifted  a  loosened 
plank  in  the  flooring  and  took  from  beneath  it  the 
grand  old  weapon  of  the  Williams  family.  Nor  did 
his  eye  lighten  with  any  pleasurable  excitement 
as  he  sat  himself  down  in  a  shadowy  corner  and 


54  PENROD  AND  SAM 

began  some  sketchy  experiments  with  the  mech- 
anism. The  allure  of  first  sight  was  gone.  In 
Mr.  Williams'  bedchamber,  with  Sam  clamouring 
for  possession,  it  had  seemed  to  Penrod  that  nothing 
in  the  world  was  so  desirable  as  to  have  that  revolver 
in  his  own  hands — it  was  his  dream  come  true. 
But,  for  reasons  not  definitely  known  to  him,  the 
charm  had  departed;  he  turned  the  cylinder  gingerly, 
almost  with  distaste;  and  slowly  there  stole  over 
him  a  feeling  that  there  was  something  repellent 
and  threatening  in  the  heavy  blue  steel. 

Thus  does  the  long-dreamed  Real  misbehave — 
not  only  for  Penrod! 

More  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  to  bingism  in  general 
than  for  any  other  reason,  he  pointed  the  revolver 
at  the  lawn-mower,  and  gloomily  murmured,  "Bing!" 

Simultaneously,  a  low  and  cautious  voice  sounded 
from  the  yard  outside,  "Yay,  Penrod!"  and  Sam 
Williams  darkened  the  doorway,  his  eye  falling  in- 
stantly upon  the  weapon  in  his  friend's  hand.  Sam 
seemed  relieved  to  see  it. 

"You  didn't  get  caught  with  it,  did  you?"  he 
said  hastily. 

Penrod  shook  his  head,  rising. 

"I  guess  not!    I  guess  I  got  some  brains  around 


BINGISM  55 

me,"  he  added,  inspired  by  Sam's  presence  to  as- 
sume a  slight  swagger.  "They'd  have  to  get  up 
pretty  early  to  find  any  good  ole  revolaver,  once  I 
got  my  hands  on  it!" 

"I  guess  we  can  keep  it,  all  right,"  Sam  said 
confidentially.  "Because  this  morning  papa  was 
putting  on  his  winter  underclothes  and  he  found  it 
wasn't  there,  and  they  looked  all  over  and  every- 
where, and  he  was  pretty  mad,  and  said  he  knew  it 
was  those  cheap  plumbers  stole  it  that  mamma 
got  instead  of  the  regular  plumbers  he  always  used 
to  have,  and  he  said  there  wasn't  any  chance  ever 
gettin'  it  back,  because  you  couldn't  tell  which  one 
took  it,  and  they'd  all  swear  it  wasn't  them.  So  it 
looks  like  we  could  keep  it  for  our  revolaver,  Penrod, 
don't  it?  I'll  give  you  half  of  it." 

Penrod  affected  some  enthusiasm.  "Sam,  we'll 
keep  it  out  here  in  the  stable." 

"Yes,  and  we'll  go  huntin'  with  it.  We'll  do  lots 
of  things  with  it!"  But  Sam  made  no  effort  to 
take  it,  and  neither  boy  seemed  to  feel  yesterday's 
necessity  to  show  the  other  how  he  did.  "Waif  till 
next  Fourth  o'  July!"  Sam  continued.  "Oh,  oh  I 
Look  out!" 

This  incited  a  genuine  spark  from  Penrod. 


54  PENBOD  AND  SAM 

began  some  sketchy  experiments  with  the  mech- 
anism. The  allure  of  first  sight  was  gone.  In 
Mr.  Williams'  bedchamber,  with  Sam  clamouring 
for  possession,  it  had  seemed  to  Penrod  that  nothing 
in  the  world  was  so  desirable  as  to  have  that  revolver 
in  his  own  hands — it  was  his  dream  come  true. 
But,  for  reasons  not  definitely  known  to  him,  the 
charm  had  departed;  he  turned  the  cylinder  gingerly, 
almost  with  distaste;  and  slowly  there  stole  over 
him  a  feeling  that  there  was  something  repellent 
and  threatening  in  the  heavy  blue  steel. 

Thus  does  the  long-dreamed  Real  misbehave — 
not  only  for  Penrod! 

More  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  to  bingism  in  general 
than  for  any  other  reason,  he  pointed  the  revolver 
at  the  lawn-mower,  and  gloomily  murmured,  "Bing ! " 

Simultaneously,  a  low  and  cautious  voice  sounded 
from  the  yard  outside,  "Yay,  Penrod!"  and  Sam 
Williams  darkened  the  doorway,  his  eye  falling  in- 
stantly upon  the  weapon  in  his  friend's  hand.  Sam 
seemed  relieved  to  see  it. 

"You  didn't  get  caught  with  it,  did  you?"  he 
said  hastily. 

Penrod  shook  his  head,  rising. 

"I  guess  not!    I  guess  I  got  some  brains  around 


BINGISM  55 

me,"  he  added,  inspired  by  Sam's  presence  to  as- 
sume a  slight  swagger.  "They'd  have  to  get  up 
pretty  early  to  find  any  good  ole  revolaver,  once  I 
got  my  hands  on  it!" 

"I  guess  we  can  keep  it,  all  right,"  Sam  said 
confidentially.  "Because  this  morning  papa  was 
putting  on  his  winter  underclothes  and  he  found  it 
wasn't  there,  and  they  looked  all  over  and  every- 
where, and  he  was  pretty  mad,  and  said  he  knew  it 
was  those  cheap  plumbers  stole  it  that  mamma 
got  instead  of  the  regular  plumbers  he  always  used 
to  have,  and  he  said  there  wasn't  any  chance  ever 
gettin'  it  back,  because  you  couldn't  tell  which  one 
took  it,  and  they'd  all  swear  it  wasn't  them.  So  it 
looks  like  we  could  keep  it  for  our  revolaver,  Penrod, 
don't  it?  I'll  give  you  half  of  it." 

Penrod  affected  some  enthusiasm.  "Sam,  we'll 
keep  it  out  here  in  the  stable." 

"Yes,  and  we'll  go  huntin'  with  it.  We'll  do  lots 
of  things  with  it!"  But  Sam  made  no  effort  to 
take  it,  and  neither  boy  seemed  to  feel  yesterday's 
necessity  to  show  the  other  how  he  did.  "Wait  till 
next  Fourth  o'  July!"  Sam  continued.  "Oh,  oh  I 
Look  out!" 

This  incited  a  genuine  spark  from  Penrod. 


56  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Fourth  o'  July!  I  guess  she'll  be  a  little  better 
than  any  firecrackers!  Just  a  little  'Bing!  Bing! 
Bing!  'she'll  be  goin'.  'Bing!  Bing!  Bing!'" 

The  suggestion  of  noise  stirred  his  comrade.  "I'll 
bet  she'll  go  off  louder'n  that  time  the  gas-works 
blew  up!  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  shoot  her  off  any 
time." 

"I  bet  you  would,"  said  Penrod.  "You  aren't 
used  to  revolavers  the  way  I " 

"You  aren't,  either!"  Sam  exclaimed  promptly. 
"I  wouldn't  be  any  more  afraid  to  shoot  her  off  than 
you  would." 

"You  would,  too!" 

"I  would  not!" 

"Well,  let's  see  you  then;  you  talk  so  much!" 
And  Penrod  handed  the  weapon  scornfully  to  Sam, 
who  at  once  became  less  self-assertive. 

"I'd  shoot  her  off  in  a  minute,"  Sam  said,  "only 
it  might  break  sumpthing  if  it  hit  it." 

"Hold  her  up  in  the  air,  then.  It  can't  hurt  the 
roof,  can  it?" 

Sam,  with  a  desperate  expression,  lifted  the  re- 
volver at  arm's  length.  Both  boys  turned  away 
their  heads,  and  Penrod  put  his  fingers  in  his  ears — 
but  nothing  happened.  "What's  the  matter?"  he 


BINGISM  57 

demanded.  "Why  don't  you  go  on  if  you're  goin' 
to?" 

Sam  lowered  his  arm.  "I  guess  I  didn't  have  her 
cocked,"  he  said  apologetically,  whereupon  Penrod 
loudly  jeered. 

"Tryin*  to  shoot  a  revolaver  and  didn't  know 
enough  to  cock  her!  If  I  didn't  know  any  more 
about  revolavers  than  that,  I'd " 

"There!"  Sam  exclaimed,  managing  to  draw  back 
the  hammer  until  two  chilling  clicks  warranted  his 
opinion  that  the  pistol  was  now  ready  to  perform 
its  office.  "I  guess  she'll  do  all  right  to  suit  you  this 
time!" 

"Well,  why 'n't  you  go  ahead,  then;  you  know  so 
much!"  And  as  Sam  raised  his  arm,  Penrod  again 
turned  away  his  head  and  placed  his  forefingers  in 
his  ears. 

A  pause  followed. 

"Why'n't  you  go  ahead?" 

Penrod,  after  waiting  in  keen  suspense,  turned 
to  behold  his  friend  standing  with  his  right  arm 
above  his  head,  his  left  hand  over  his  left  ear,  and 
both  eyes  closed. 

"I  can't  pull  the  trigger,"  said  Sam  indistinctly, 
his  face  convulsed  as  in  sympathy  with  the  great 


58  PENROD  AND  SAM 

muscular  efforts  of  other  parts  of  his  body.     "She 
won't  pull!" 

"She  won't?"  Penrod  remarked  with  scorn. 
"I'll  bet  /  could  pull  her." 

Sam  promptly  opened  his  eyes  and  handed  the 
weapon  to  Penrod. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  with  surprising  and  unusual 
mildness.  "You  try  her,  then." 

Inwardly  discomfited  to  a  disagreeable  extent, 
Penrod  attempted  to  talk  his  own  misgivings  out  of 
countenance. 

"Poor  'ittle  baby!"  he  said,  swinging  the  pistol 
at  his  side  with  a  fair  pretense  of  careless  ease. 
"Ain't  even  strong  enough  to  pull  a  trigger!  Poor 
'ittle  baby!  Well,  if  you  can't  even  do  that  much, 
you  better  watch  me  while  / " 

"Well,"  said  Sam  reasonably,  "why  don't  you  go 
on  and  do  it  then?" 

"Well,  I  am  goin'  to,  ain't  I?" 

"Well,  then,  why  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  I'll  do  it  fast  enough  to  suit  you,  I  guess," 
Penrod  retorted,  swinging  the  big  revolver  up  a  little 
higher  than  his  shoulder  and  pointing  it  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  double  doors,  which  opened  upon 
the  alley.  "You  better  run,  Sam,"  he  jeered. 


"  'I  can't  pull  the  trigger,'  said  Sam  indistinctly. 
'She  won't  pull!'" 


BINGISM  59 

"You'll  be  pretty  scared  when  I  shoot  her  off,  I 
guess." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  see  if  I  will?  I  bet  you're 
afraid  yourself." 

"Oh,  I  am,  am  I?"  said  Penrod,  in  a  reckless  voice 
— and  his  finger  touched  the  trigger.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  his  finger  no  more  than  touched  it;  perhaps 
he  had  been  reassured  by  Sam's  assertion  that  the 
trigger  was  difficult.  His  intentions  must  remain 
in  doubt,  and  probably  Penrod  himself  was  not 
certain  of  them;  but  one  thing  comes  to  the  surface 
as  entirely  definite — that  trigger  was  not  so  hard  to 
pull  as  Sam  said  it  was. 

Bang!  Wh-a-a-ack  A  shattering  report  split 
the  air  of  the  stable,  and  there  was  an  orifice  of  re- 
markable diameter  in  the  alley  door.  With  these 
phenomena,  three  yells,  expressing  excitement  of 
different  kinds,  were  almost  simultaneous — two  from 
within  the  stable  and  the  third  from  a  point  in  the 
alley  about  eleven  inches  lower  than  the  orifice  just 
constructed  in  the  planking  of  the  door.  This  third 
point,  roughly  speaking,  was  the  open  mouth  of  a 
gayly  dressed  young  coloured  man  whose  attention, 
as  he  strolled,  had  been  thus  violently  distracted 
from  some  mental  computations  he  was  making  in 


60  PENROD  AND  SAM 

numbers,  including,  particularly,  those  symbols  of 
ecstasy  or  woe,  as  the  case  might  be,  seven  and 
eleven.  His  eye  at  once  perceived  the  orifice  on  a 
line  enervatingly  little  above  the  top  of  his  head; 
and,  although  he  had  not  supposed  himself  so  well 
known  in  this  neighbourhood,  he  was  aware  that  he 
did,  here  and  there,  possess  acquaintances  of  whom 
some  such  uncomplimentary  action  might  be  ex- 
pected as  natural  and  characteristic.  His  immediate 
procedure  was  to  prostrate  himself  flat  upon  the 
ground,  against  the  stable  doors. 

In  so  doing,  his  shoulders  came  brusquely  in  con- 
tact with  one  of  them,  which  happened  to  be  un- 
fastened, and  it  swung  open,  revealing  to  his  gaze 
two  stark-white  white  boys,  one  of  them  holding  an 
enormous  pistol  and  both  staring  at  him  in  stupor  of 
ultimate  horror.  For,  to  the  glassy  eyes  of  Penrod 
and  Sam,  the  stratagem  of  the  young  coloured  man, 
thus  dropping  to  earth,  disclosed,  with  awful  cer- 
tainty, a  slaughtered  body. 

This  dreadful  thing  raised  itself  upon  its  elbows 
and  looked  at  them,  and  there  followed  a  motionless 
moment — a  tableau  of  brief  duration,  for  both  boys 
turned  and  would  have  fled,  shrieking,  but  the  body 
spoke: 


BINGISM  61 

"  'At's  a  nice  business ! "  it  said  reproachfully. 
"Nice  business!  Tryin'  blow  a  man's  head  off!" 

Penrod  was  unable  to  speak,  but  Sam  managed  to 
summon  the  tremulous  semblance  of  a  voice. 

"Where — where  did  it  hit  you?"  he  gasped. 

"Nemmine  anything  'bout  where  it  hit  me,"  the 
young  coloured  man  returned,  dusting  his  breast 
and  knees  as  he  rose.  "I  want  to  know  what  kine 
o'  white  boys  you  think  you  is — man  can't  walk 
'long  street  'thout  you  bio  win'  his  head  off!"  He 
entered  the  stable  and,  with  an  indignation  surely 
justified,  took  the  pistol  from  the  limp,  cold  hand  of 
Penrod.  "Whose  gun  you  playin'  with?  Where 
you  git  'at  gun?" 

"It's  ours,"  quavered  Sam.     "It  belongs  to  us." 

"Then  you'  pa  ought  to  be  'rested,"  said  the  ' 
young  coloured  man.  "  Lettin'  boys  p'ay  with  gun ! " 
He  examined  the  revolver  with  an  interest  in  which 
there  began  to  appear  symptoms  of  a  pleasurable 
appreciation.  "My  goo'ness!  Gun  like  'iss  blow  a 
team  o'  steers  thew  a  brick  house !  Look  at  'at  gun ! " 
With  his  right  hand  he  twirled  it  in  a  manner  most 
dexterous  and  surprising;  then  suddenly  he  became 
severe.  "You  white  boy,  listen  me!"  he  said.  "Ef 
I  went  an  did  what  I  ought  to  did,  I'd  march  straight 


62  PENROD  AND  SAM 

out  'iss  stable,  git  a  policeman,  an'  tell  him  'rest  you 
an'  take  you  off  to  jail.  'At's  what  you  need — 
bio  win' man's  head  off!  Listen  me:  I'm  goin'  take 
'iss  gun  an'  th'ow  her  away  where  you  can't  do  no 
mo'  harm  with  her.  I'm  goin'  take  her  way  off  in 
the  woods  an'  th'ow  her  away  where  can't  nobody 
fine  her  an'  go  blowin'  man's  head  off  with  her. 
*At's  what  I'm  goin'  do!"  And  placing  the  revolver 
inside  his  coat  as  inconspicuously  as  possible,  he 
proceeded  to  the  open  door  and  into  the  alley,  where 
he  turned  for  a  final  word.  "I  let  you  off  'iss  one 
time,"  he  said,  "but  listen  me — you  listen,  white  boy: 
you  bet'  not  tell  you'  pa.  I  ain'  goin'  tell  him,  an' 
you  ain'  goin'  tell  him.  He  want  know  where  gun 
gone,  you  tell  him  you  los'  her." 

He  disappeared  rapidly. 

Sam  Williams,  swallowing  continuously,  presently 
walked  to  the  alley  door,  and  remarked  in  a  weak 
voice,  "I'm  sick  at  my  stummick."  He  paused, 
then  added  more  decidedly:  "I'm  goin'  home.  I 
guess  I've  stood  about  enough  around  here  for  one 
day!"  And  bestowing  a  last  glance  upon  his  friend, 
who  was  now  sitting  dumbly  upon  the  floor  in  the 
exact  spot  where  he  had  stood  to  fire  the  dreadful 
shot,  Sam  moved  slowly  away. 


BINGISM  63 

The  early  shades  of  autumn  evening  were  falling 
when  Penrod  emerged  from  the  stable;  and  a  better 
light  might  have  disclosed  to  a  shrewd  eye  some 
indications  that  here  was  a  boy  who  had  been  ex- 
tremely, if  temporarily,  ill.  He  went  to  the  cistern, 
and,  after  a  cautious  glance  round  the  reassuring 
horizon,  lifted  the*  iron  cover.  Then  he  took  from 
the  inner  pocket  of  his  jacket  an  object  which  he 
dropped  listlessly  into  the  water:  it  was  a  bit  of 
wood,  whittled  to  the  likeness  of  a  pistol.  And 
though  his  lips  moved  not,  nor  any  sound  issued 
from  his  vocal  organs,  yet  were  words  formed.  They 
were  so  deep  in  the  person  of  Penrod  they  came 
almost  from  the  slowly  convalescing  profundities 
of  his  stomach.  These  words  concerned  firearms, 
and  they  were: 

"Wish  I'd  never  seen  one!  Never  want  to  see 
one  again!" 

Of  course  Penrod  had  no  way  of  knowing  that,  as 
regards  bingism  in  general,  several  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished old  gentlemen  in  Europe  were  at  that  very 
moment  in  exactly  the  same  state  of  mind. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   IN-OR-IN 

GEORGIE  BASSETT  was  a  boy  set  apart. 
Not  only  that;  Georgie  knew  that  he  was 
a  boy  set  apart.     He  would  think  about  it 
for  ten  or  twenty  minutes  at  a  time,  and  he  could  not 
look  at  himself  in  a  mirror  and  remain  wholly  with- 
out emotion.     What  that  emotion  was,  he  would  have 
been  unable  to  put  into  words,  but  it  helped  him  to 
understand  that  there  was  a  certain  noble  something 
about  him  which  other  boys  did  not  possess. 

Georgie's  mother  had  been  the  first  to  discover 
that  Georgie  was  a  boy  set  apart.  In  fact,  Georgie 
did  not  know  it  until  one  day,  when  he  happened 
to  overhear  his  mother  telling  two  of  his  aunts  about 
it.  True,  he  had  always  understood  that  he  was 
the  best  boy  in  town  and  he  intended  to  be  a  minister 
when  he  grew  up,  but  he  had  never  before  compre- 
hended the  full  extent  of  his  sanctity,  and,  from  that 
fraught  moment  onward,  he  had  an  almost  theatrical 

sense  of  his  set-apartness. 

64 


THE  IN-OR-IN  65 

Penrod  Schofield  and  Sam  Williams  and  the  other 
boys  of  the  neighbourhood  all  were  conscious  that 
there  was  something  different  and  spiritual  about 
Georgie,  and,  though  this  consciousness  of  theirs 
may  have  been  a  little  obscure,  it  was  none  the  less 
actual.  That  is  to  say,  they  knew  that  Georgie 
Bassett  was  a  boy  set  apart,  but  they  did  not  know 
that  they  knew  it.  Georgie's  air  and  manner  at 
all  times  demonstrated  to  them  that  the  thing  was 
so,  and,  moreover,  their  mothers  absorbed  appre- 
ciation of  Georgie's  wonderfulness  from  the  very 
fount  of  it,  for  Mrs.  Bassett's  conversation  was  of 
little  else.  Thus,  the  radiance  of  his  character  be- 
came the  topic  of  envious  parental  comment  during 
moments  of  strained  patience  in  many  homes,  so 
that  altogether  the  most  remarkable  fact  to  be 
stated  of  Georgie  Bassett  is  that  he  escaped  the  con- 
sequences as  long  as  he  did. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  no  actual  violence  was 
done  him  except  upon  the  incidental  occasion  of  a 
tar-fight,  into  which  he  was  drawn  by  an  obvious 
eccentricity  on  the  part  of  destiny.  Naturally,  he 
was  not  popular  with  his  comrades;  in  all  games  he 
was  pushed  aside,  and  disregarded,  being  invariably 
the  tail-ender  in  every  pastime  in  which  leaders 


66  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"chose  sides";  his  counsels  were  slighted  as  worse 
than  weightless,  and  all  his  opinions  instantly  hooted. 
Still,  considering  the  circumstances  fairly  and 
thoughtfully,  it  is  difficult  to  deny  that  his  boy  com- 
panions showed  creditable  moderation  in  their  treat- 
ment of  him.  That  is,  they  were  moderate  up  to  a 
certain  date,  and  even  then  they  did  not  directly 
attack  him — there  was  nothing  cold-blooded  about 
it  at  all.  The  thing  was  forced  upon  them,  and, 
though  they  all  felt  pleased  and  uplifted — while  it 
was  happening — they  did  not  understand  precisely 
why.  Nothing  could  more  clearly  prove  their  in- 
nocence of  heart  than  this  very  ignorance,  and  yet 
none  of  the  grown  people  who  later  felt  themselves 
concerned  in  the  matter  was  able  to  look  at  it  in  that 
light.  Now,  here  was  a  characteristic  working  of 
those  reactions  which  produce  what  is  sometimes 
called  "the  injustice  of  life,"  because  the  grown 
people  were  responsible  for  the  whole  affair  and  were 
really  the  guilty  parties.  It  was  from  grown  people 
that  Georgie  Bassett  learned  that  he  was  a  boy  set 
apart,  and  the  effect  upon  him  was  what  alienated 
his  friends.  Then  these  alienated  friends  were 
brought  (by  odious  comparisons  on  the  part  of  grown 
people)  to  a  condition  of  mind  wherein  they  suffered 


THE  IN-OR-IN  67 

dumb  annoyance,  like  a  low  fever,  whenever  they 
heard  Georgie's  name  mentioned,  while  association 
with  his  actual  person  became  every  day  more  and 
more  irritating.  And  yet,  having  laid  this  fuse  and 
having  kept  it  constantly  glowing,  the  grown  people 
expected  nothing  to  happen  to  Georgie. 

The  catastrophe  befell  as  a  consequence  of  Sam 
Williams  deciding  to  have  a  shack  in  his  backyard. 
Sam  had  somehow  obtained  a  vasty  piano-box  and  a 
quantity  of  lumber,  and,  summoning  Penrod  Scho- 
field  and  the  coloured  brethren,  Herman  and  Ver- 
man,  he  expounded  to  them  his  building-plans  and 
offered  them  shares  and  benefits  in  the  institution 
he  purposed  to  found.  Acceptance  was  enthusiastic; 
straightway  the  assembly  became  a  union  of  car- 
penters all  of  one  mind,  and  ten  days  saw  the  shack 
not  completed  but  comprehensible.  Anybody  could 
tell,  by  that  time,  that  it  was  intended  for  a  shack. 

There  was  a  door  on  leather  hinges;  it  drooped, 
perhaps,  but  it  was  a  door.  There  was  a  window — 
not  a  glass  one,  but,  at  least,  it  could  be  "looked  out 
of,"  as  Sam  said.  There  was  a  chimney  made  of 
stovepipe,  though  that  was  merely  decorative,  be- 
cause the  cooking  was  done  out  of  doors  in  an  under- 
ground "furnace"  which  the  boys  excavated.  There 


68  PENROD  AND  SAM 

were  pictures  pasted  on  the  interior  walls,  and, 
hanging  from  a  nail,  there  was  a  crayon  portrait  of 
Sam's  grandfather,  which  he  had  brought  down  fr*m 
the  attic  quietly,  though,  as  he  said,  it  "wasn't 
any  use  on  earth  up  there."  There  were  two  lame 
chairs  from  Penrod's  attic,  and  along  one  wall  ran 
a  low  and  feeble  structure  intended  to  serve  as  a 
bench  or  divan.  This  would  come  in  handy,  Sam 
said,  if  any  of  the  party  "had  to  lay  down  or  any- 
thing," and  at  a  pinch  (such  as  a  meeting  of  the 
association)  it  would  serve  to  seat  all  the  members 
in  a  row. 

For,  coincidentally  with  the  development  of  the 
shack,  the  builders  became  something  more  than 
partners.  Later,  no  one  could  remember  who  first 
suggested  the  founding  of  a  secret  order,  or  society, 
as  a  measure  of  exclusiveness  and  to  keep  the  shack 
sacred  to  members  only,  but  it  was  an  idea  that 
presently  began  to  be  more  absorbing  and  satis- 
factory than  even  the  shack  itself.  The  outward 
manifestations  of  it  might  have  been  observed  in 
the  increased  solemnity  and  preoccupation  of  the 
Caucasian  members  and  in  a  few  ceremonial  ob- 
servances exposed  to  the  public  eye.  As  an  instance 
of  these  latter,  Mrs.  Williams,  happening  to  glance 


THE  IN-OR-IN  69 

from  a  rearward  window,  about  four  o'clock  one 
afternoon,  found  her  attention  arrested  by  what 
seemed  to  be  a  flag-raising  before  the  door  of  the 
shack.  Sam  and  Herman  and  Verman  stood  in 
attitudes  of  rigid  attention,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
while  Penrod  Schofield,  facing  them,  was  apparently 
delivering  some  sort  of  exhortation  which  he  read 
from  a  scribbled  sheet  of  foolscap.  Concluding  this, 
he  lifted  from  the  ground  a  long  and  somewhat 
warped  clothes-prop,  from  one  end  of  which  hung  a 
whitish  flag,  or  pennon,  bearing  an  inscription. 
Sam  and  Herman  and  Verman  lifted  their  right 
hands,  while  Penrod  placed  the  other  end  of  the 
clothes-prop  in  a  hole  in  the  ground,  with  the  pennon 
fluttering  high  above  the  shack.  He  then  raised 
his  own  right  hand,  and  the  four  boys  repeated 
something  in  concert.  It  was  inaudible  to  Mrs. 
Williams,  but  she  was  able  to  make  out  the  inscrip- 
tion upon  the  pennon.  It  consisted  of  the  peculiar 
phrase,  "In-Or-In,"  done  in  black  paint  upon  a 
muslin  ground,  and  consequently  seeming  to  be  in 
need  of  a  blotter. 

It  recurred  to  her  mind,  later  that  evening,  when 
she  happened  to  find  herself  alone  with  Sam  in  the 
library,  and,  in  merest  idle  curiosity,  she  asked: 


70  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Sam,  what  does  'In-Or-In'  mean?" 

Sam,  bending  over  an  arithmetic,  uncreased  his 
brow  till  it  became  of  a  blank  and  marble  smooth- 
ness. 

"Ma'am?" 

"What  are  those  words  on  your  flag?" 

Sam  gave  her  a  long,  cold,  mystic  look,  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  left  the  room  with  emphasis  and  dignity. 
For  a  moment  she  was  puzzled.  But  Sam's  older 
brother  was  this  year  completing  his  education  at  a 
university,  and  Mrs.  Williams  was  not  altogether 
ignorant  of  the  obligations  of  secrecy  imposed  upon 
some  brotherhoods;  so  she  was  able  to  comprehend 
Sam's  silent  withdrawal,  and,  instead  of  summoning 
him  back  for  further  questions,  she  waited  until  he 
was  out  of  hearing  and  then  began  to  laugh. 

Sam's  action  was  in  obedience  to  one  of  the  rules 
adopted,  at  his  own  suggestion,  as  a  law  of  the  order. 
Penrod  advocated  it  warmly.  From  Margaret  he  had 
heard  accounts  of  her  friends  in  college  and  thus 
had  learned  much  that  ought  to  be  done.  On  the 
other  hand,  Herman  subscribed  to  it  with  reluctance, 
expressing  a  decided  opinion  that  if  he  and  Verman 
were  questioned  upon  the  matter  at  home  and  adopted 
the  line  of  conduct  required  by  the  new  rule,  it 


THE  IN-OR-IN  71 

would  be  well  for  them  to  depart  not  only  from  the 
room  in  which  the  questioning  took  place  but  from  the 
house,  and  hurriedly  at  that.  "An*  stay  away!"  he 
concluded. 

Verman,  being  tongue-tied — not  without  advan- 
tage in  this  case,  and  surely  an  ideal  qualification  for 
membership — was  not  so  apprehensive.  He  voted 
with  Sam  and  Penrod,  carrying  the  day. 

New  rules  were  adopted  at  every  meeting  (though 
it  cannot  be  said  that  all  of  them  were  practicable) 
for,  in  addition  to  the  information  possessed  by 
Sam  and  Penrod,  Herman  and  Verman  had  many 
ideas  of  their  own,  founded  upon  remarks  overheard 
at  home.  Both  their  parents  belonged  to  secret 
orders,  their  father  to  the  Innapenent  'Nevolent 
Lodge  (so  stated  by  Herman)  and  their  mother  to 
the  Order  of  White  Doves. 

From  these  and  other  sources,  Penrod  found  no 
difficulty  in  compiling  material  for  what  came  to 
be  known  as  the  "rixual";  and  it  was  the  rixual  he 
was  reading  to  the  members  when  Mrs.  Williams 
happened  to  observe  the  ceremonial  raising  of  the 
emblem  of  the  order. 

The  rixual  contained  the  oath,  a  key  to  the  secret 
language,  or  code  (devised  by  Penrod  for  use  in 


72  PENROD  AND  SAM 

uncertain  emergencies),  and  passwords  for  admission 
to  the  shack,  also  instructions  for  recognizing  a 
brother  member  in  the  dark,  and  a  rather  alarming 
sketch  of  the  things  to  be  done  during  the  initiation 
of  a  candidate. 

This  last  was  employed  for  the  benefit  of  Master 
Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts,  Junior,  on  the  Saturday 
following  the  flag-raising.  He  presented  himself  in 
Sam's  yard,  not  for  initiation,  indeed — having  no 
previous  knowledge  of  the  Society  of  the  In-Or-In — 
but  for  general  purposes  of  sport  and  pastime.  At 
first  sight  of  the  shack  he  expressed  anticipations  of 
pleasure,  adding  some  suggestions  for  improving 
the  architectural  effect.  Being  prevented,  however, 
from  entering,  and  even  from  standing  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  sacred  building,  he  plaintively  demanded  an  ex- 
planation; whereupon  he  was  commanded  to  with- 
draw to  the  front  yard  for  a  time,  and  the  members 
held  meeting  in  the  shack.  Roddy  was  elected, 
and  consented  to  undergo  the  initiation. 

He  was  not  the  only  new  member  that  day.  A 
short  time  after  Roddy  had  been  taken  into  the 
shack  for  the  reading  of  the  rixual  and  other  cere- 
monies, little  Maurice  Levy  entered  the  Williams' 
gate  and  strolled  round  to  the  backyard,  looking  for 


THE  IN-OR-IN  73 

Sam.  He  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  behold 
the  promising  shack,  and,  like  Roddy,  entertained 
fair  hopes  for  the  future. 

The  door  of  the  shack  was  closed;  a  board  covered 
the  window,  but  a  murmur  of  voices  came  from 
within.  Maurice  stole  close  and  listened.  Through 
a  crack  he  could  see  the  flicker  of  a  candle-flame, 
and  he  heard  the  voice  of  Penrod  Schofield: 

"Roddy  Bitts,  do  you  solemnly  swear?" 

"Well,  all  right,"  said  the  voice  of  Roddy,  some- 
what breathless. 

"How  many  fingers  you  see  before  your  eyes?" 

"Can't  see  any,"  Roddy  returned.  "How  could 
I,  with  this  thing  over  my  eyes,  and  laying  down  on 
my  stummick,  anyway?" 

"Then  the  time  has  come,"  Penrod  announced 
in  solemn  tones.  "The  time  has  come." 

Whack! 

Evidently  a  broad  and  flat  implement  was  there- 
upon applied  to  Roddy. 

"Ow  /"  complained  the  candidate. 

"No  noise!"  said  Penrod  sternly,  and  added: 
"Roddy  Bitts  must  now  say  the  oath.  Say  exackly 
what  I  say,  Roddy,  and  if  you  don't — well,  you  better, 
because  you'll  see !  Now,  say '  I  solemnly  swear ' J> 


74  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  solemnly  swear — "  said  Roddy. 

"To  keep  the  secrets " 

"To  keep  the  secrets "  Roddy  repeated. 

"To  keep  the  secrets  in  infadelaty  and  violate 
and  sanctuary." 

"What?"  Roddy  naturally  inquired. 

Whack! 

"  Ow  I "  cried  Roddy.     "  That's  no  fair ! " 

"You  got  to  say  just  what  7  say,"  Penrod  was 
heard  informing  him.  "That's  the  rixual,  and 
anyway,  even  if  you  do  get  it  right,  Verman's  got  to 
hit  you  every  now  and  then,  because  that's  part  of 
the  rixual,  too.  Now  go  on  and  say  it.  *I  solemnly 
swear  to  keep  the  secrets  in  infadelaty  and  violate 
and  sanctuary.5 ' 

"I  solemnly  swear "  Roddy  began. 

But  Maurice  Levy  was  tired  of  being  no  party 
to  such  fascinating  proceedings,  and  he  began  to 
hammer  upon  the  door. 

"Sam!  Sana  Williams!"  he  shouted.  "Lemme 
in  there!  I  know  lots  about  'nishiatin'.  Lemme 
in!" 

The  door  was  flung  open,  revealing  Roddy  Bitts, 
blindfolded  and  bound,  lying  face  down  upon  the 
floor  of  the  shack;  but  Maurice  had  only  a  fugitive 


THE  IN-OR-IN  75 

glimpse  of  this  pathetic  figure  before  he,  too,  was 
recumbent.  Four  boys  flung  themselves  indig- 
nantly upon  him  and  bore  him  to  earth. 

"  Hi ! "  he  squealed.  "  What  you  doin'  ?  Haven't 
you  got  any  sense  ?  " 

And,  from  within  the  shack,  Roddy  added  his 
own  protest. 

"Let  me  up,  can't  you?"  he  cried.  "I  got  to 
see  what's  goin'  on  out  there,  haven't  I?  I  guess 
I'm  not  goin'  to  lay  here  all  day  !  What  you  think 
I'm  made  of?" 

"You  hush  up!"  Penrod  commanded.  "This  is 
a  nice  biznuss!"  he  continued,  deeply  aggrieved. 
"What  kind  of  a  'nishiation  do  you  expect  this  is, 
anyhow?" 

"Well,  here's  Maurice  Levy  gone  and  seen  part 
of  the  secrets,"  said  Sam,  in  a  voice  of  equal  plain- 
tiveness.  "Yes;  and  I  bet  he  was  listenin*  out  here, 
too!" 

"Lemme  up!"  begged  Maurice,  half  stifled.  "I 
didn't  do  any  harm  to  your  old  secrets,  did  I?  Any- 
ways, I  just  as  soon  be  'nishiated  myself.  I  ain't 
afraid.  So  if  you  'nishiate  me,  what  difference  will 
it  make  if  I  did  hear  a  little?" 

Struck  with  this  idea,  which  seemed  reasonable, 


76  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Penrod  obtained  silence  from  every  one  except 
Roddy,  and  it  was  decided  to  allow  Maurice  to  rise 
and  retire  to  the  front  yard.  The  brother  members 
then  withdrew  within  the  shack,  elected  Maurice 
to  the  fellowship,  and  completed  the  initiation  of 
Mr.  Bitts.  After  that,  Maurice  was  summoned 
and  underwent  the  ordeal  with  fortitude,  though 
the  newest  brother — still  tingling  with  his  own  ex- 
periences— helped  to  make  certain  parts  of  the  rixual 
unprecedentedly  severe. 

Once  endowed  with  full  membership,  Maurice 
and  Roddy  accepted  the  obligations  and  privileges 
of  the  order  with  enthusiasm.  Both  interested 
themselves  immediately  in  improvements  for  the 
shack,  and  made  excursions  to  their  homes  to  obtain 
materials.  Roddy  returned  with  a  pair  of  lensless 
mother-of-pearl  opera-glasses,  a  contribution  which 
led  to  the  creation  of  a  new  office,  called  the  "warner." 
It  was  his  duty  to  climb  upon  the  back  fence  once 
every  fifteen  minutes  and  search  the  horizon  for 
intruders  or  "anybody  that  hasn't  got  any  biznuss 
around  here."  This  post  proved  so  popular,  at 
first,  that  it  was  found  necessary  to  provide  for 
rotation  in  office,  and  to  shorten  the  interval  from 
fifteen  minutes  to  an  indefinite  but  much  briefer 


THE  IN-OR-IN  77 

period,    determined   principally   by    argument   be- 
tween the  incumbent  and  his  successor. 

And  Maurice  Levy  contributed  a  device  so  pleasant, 
and  so  necessary  to  the  prevention  of  interruption 
during  meetings,  that  Penrod  and  Sam  wondered 
why  they  had  not  thought  of  it  themselves  long 
before.  It  consisted  of  about  twenty-five  feet  of 
garden  hose  in  fair  condition.  One  end  of  it  was 
introduced  into  the  shack  through  a  knothole,  and 
the  other  was  secured  by  wire  round  the  faucet  of 
hydrant  in  the  stable.  Thus,  if  members  of  the 
order  were  assailed  by  thirst  during  an  important 
session,  or  in  the  course  of  an  initiation,  it  would 
not  be  necessary  for  them  all  to  leave  the  shack. 
One  could  go,  instead,  and  when  he  had  turned  on 
the  water  at  the  hydrant,  the  members  in  the  shack 
could  drink  without  leaving  their  places.  It  was 
discovered,  also,  that  the  section  of  hose  could  be 
used  as  a  speaking-tube;  and  though  it  did  prove 
necessary  to  explain  by  shouting  outside  the  tube 
what  one  had  said  into  it,  still  there  was  a  general 
feeling  that  it  provided  another  means  of  secrecy 
and  an  additional  safeguard  against  intrusion.  It 
is  true  that  during  the  half-hour  immediately  fol- 
lowing the  installation  of  this  convenience,  there 


78  PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  a  little  violence  among  the  brothers  concerning 
a  question  of  policy.  Sam,  Roddy,  and  Verman — 
Verman  especially — wished  to  use  the  tube  "to  talk 
through,"  and  Maurice,  Penrod,  and  Herman  wished 
to  use  it "  to  drink  through."  As  a  consequence  of  the 
success  of  the  latter  party,  the  shack  became  too  damp 
for  habitation  until  another  day,  and  several  members, 
as  they  went  home  at  dusk,  might  easily  have  been 
mistaken  for  survivors  of  some  marine  catastrophe. 

Still,  not  every  shack  is  equipped  with  running 
water,  and  exuberance  befitted  the  occasion.  Every- 
body agreed  that  the  afternoon  had  been  one  of 
the  most  successful  and  important  in  many  weeks. 
The  Order  of  the  In-Or-In  was  doing  splendidly; 
and  yet  every  brother  felt,  in  his  heart,  that  there 
was  one  thing  that  could  spoil  it.  Against  that 
fatality,  all  were  united  to  protect  themselves,  the 
shack,  the  rixual,  the  opera-glasses,  and  the  water- 
and-speaking  tube.  Sam  spoke  not  only  for  him- 
self but  for  the  entire  order  when  he  declared,  in 
speeding  the  last  parting  guest: 

"Well,  we  got  to  stick  to  one  thing  or  we  might  as 
well  quit!  Georgie  Bassett  better  not  come  pokin' 
around!" 

"No,  sir!"  said  Penrod, 


CHAPTER  VI 

GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER 

BUT  Georgie  did.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine 
how  cause  and  effect  could  be  more  closely 
and  patiently  related.  Inevitably,  Georgie 
did  come  poking  around.  How  was  he  to  refrain 
when  daily,  up  and  down  the  neighbourhood,  the 
brothers  strutted  with  mystic  and  important  airs, 
when  they  whispered  together  and  uttered  words  of 
strange  import  in  his  presence?  Thus  did  they 
defeat  their  own  object.  They  desired  to  keep 
Georgie  at  a  distance,  yet  they  could  not  refrain 
from  posing  before  him.  They  wished  to  impress 
upon  him  the  fact  that  he  was  an  outsider,  and  they 
but  succeeded  in  rousing  his  desire  to  be  an  insider, 
a  desire  which  soon  became  a  determination.  For 
few  were  the  days  until  he  not  only  knew  of  the 
shack  but  had  actually  paid  it  a  visit.  That  was 
upon  a  morning  when  the  other  boys  were  in  school, 
Georgie  having  found  himself  indisposed  until  about 
ten  o'clock,  when  he  was  able  to  take  nourishment 

79 


80  PENROD  AND  SAM 

and  subsequently  to  interest  himself  in  this  rather 
private  errand.  He  climbed  the  Williams'  alley 
fence,  and  having  made  a  modest  investigation  of 
the  exterior  of  the  shack,  which  was  padlocked,  re- 
tired without  having  disturbed  anything  except  his 
own  peace  of  mind.  His  curiosity,  merely  piqued 
before,  now  became  ravenous  and  painful.  It  was 
not  allayed  by  the  mystic  manners  of  the  members 
or  by  the  unnecessary  emphasis  they  laid  upon  their 
coldness  toward  himself;  and  when  a  committee 
informed  him  darkly  that  there  were  "secret  orders" 
to  prevent  his  coming  within  "a  hundred  and  six- 
teen feet" — such  was  Penrod's  arbitrary  language 
— of  the  Williams'  yard,  "in  any  direction,"  Georgie 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  entered  his  own  house, 
and,  in  burning  words,  laid  the  case  before  a  woman 
higher  up.  Here  the  responsibility  for  things  is 
directly  traceable  to  grown  people.  Within  that 
hour,  Mrs.  Bassett  sat  in  Mrs.  Williams'  library 
to  address  her  hostess  upon  the  subject  of  Georgie's 
grievance. 

"Of  course,  it  isn't  Sam's  fault,"  she  said,  conclud- 
ing her  interpretation  of  the  affair.  "Georgie  likes 
Sam,  and  didn't  blame  him  at  all.  No;  we  both 
felt  that  Sam  would  always  be  a  polite,  nice  boy — 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       81 

Georgie  used  those  very  words — but  Penrod  seems 
to  have  a  very  bad  influence.  Georgie  felt  that  Sam 
would  want  him  to  come  and  play  in  the  shack  if 
Penrod  didn't  make  Sam  do  everything  he  wants. 
What  hurt  Georgie  most  is  that  it's  Sam's  shack, 
and  he  felt  for  another  boy  to  come  and  tell  him 
that  he  mustn't  even  go  near  it — well,  of  course,  it 
was  very  trying.  And  he's  very  much  hurt  with 
little  Maurice  Levy,  too.  He  said  that  he  was  sure 
that  even  Penrod  would  be  glad  to  have  him  for  a 
member  of  their  little  club  if  it  weren't  for  Maurice 
— and  I  think  he  spoke  of  Roddy  Bitts,  too." 

The  fact  that  the  two  remaining  members  were 
coloured  was  omitted  from  this  discourse — which 
leads  to  the  deduction  that  Georgie  had  not  men- 
tioned it. 

"Georgie  said  all  the  other  boys  liked  him  very 
much,"  Mrs.  Bassett  continued,  "and  that  he  felt 
it  his  duty  to  join  the  club,  because  most  of  them 
were  so  anxious  to  have  him,  and  he  is  sure  he  would 
have  a  good  influence  over  them.  He  really  did 
speak  of  it  in  quite  a  touching  way,  Mrs.  Williams. 
Of  course,  we  mothers  mustn't  brag  of  our  sons  too 
much,  but  Georgie  really  isn't  like  other  boys.  He 
is  so  sensitive,  you  can't  think  how  this  little  affair 


82  PENROD  AND  SAM 

has  hurt  him,  and  I  felt  that  it  might  even  make 
him  ill.  You  see,  I  had  to  respect  his  reason  for 
wanting  to  join  the  club.  And  if  I  am  his  mother" 
— she  gave  a  deprecating  little  laugh — "I  must  say 
that  it  seems  noble  to  want  to  join  not  really  for  his 
own  sake  but  for  the  good  that  he  felt  his  influence 
would  have  over  the  other  boys.  Don't  you  think 
so,  Mrs.  Williams?" 

Mrs.  Williams  said  that  she  did,  indeed.  And 
the  result  of  this  interview  was  another,  which  took 
place  between  Sam  and  his  father  that  evening,  for 
Mrs.  Williams,  after  talking  to  Sam  herself,  felt 
that  the  matter  needed  a  man  to  deal  with  it.  The 
man  did  it  man-fashion. 

"You  either  invite  Georgie  Bassett  to  play  in  the 
shack  all  he  wants  to,"  said  the  man,  "or  the  shack 
comes  down." 

"But " 

"Take  your  choice.  I'm  not  going  to  have  neigh- 
bourhood quarrels  over  su®h " 

"But,  papa " 

"That's  enough!  You  said  yourself  you  haven't 
anything  against  Georgie." 

"I  said " 

"You  said  you  didn't  like  him,  but  you  couldn't 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       83 

tell  why.  You  couldn't  state  a  single  instance  of 
bad  behaviour  against  him.  You  couldn't  mention 
anything  he  ever  did  which  wasn't  what  a  gentleman 
should  have  done.  It's  no  use,  I  tell  you.  Either 
you  invite  Georgie  to  play  in  the  shack  as  much  as 
he  likes  next  Saturday,  or  the  shack  oomes  down." 

"But,  papa " 

"I'm  not  going  to  talk  any  more  about  it.  If  you 
want  the  shack  pulled  down  and  hauled  away,  you 
and  your  friends  continue  to  tantalize  this  inoffensive 
little  boy  the  way  you  have  been.  If  you  want  to 
keep  it,  be  polite  and  invite  him  in." 

"But " 

" That's  ALL,  I  said!" 

Sam  was  crushed. 

Next  day  he  communicated  the  bitter  substance 
of  the  edict  to  the  other  members,  and  gloom  became 
unanimous.  So  serious  an  aspect  did  the  affair 
present  that  it  was  felt  necessary  to  call  a  special 
meeting  of  the  order  after  school.  The  entire  mem- 
bership was  in  attendance;  the  door  was  closed,  the 
window  covered  with  a  board,  and  the  candle  lighted. 
Then  all  of  the  brothers — except  one — began  to 
express  their  sorrowful  apprehensions.  The  whole 
thing  was  spoiled,  they  agreed,  if  Georgie  Bassett 


84  PENROD  AND  SAM 

had  to  be  taken  in.  On  the  other  hand,  if  they 
didn't  take  him  in,  "there  wouldn't  be  anything 
left."  The  one  brother  who  failed  to  express  any 
opinion  was  little  Verman.  He  was  otherwise 
occupied. 

Verman  had  been  the  official  paddler  during  the 
initiations  of  Roddy  Bitts  and  Maurice  Levy;  his 
work  had  been  conscientious,  and  it  seemed  to  be 
taken  by  consent  that  he  was  to  continue  in  office. 
An  old  shingle  from  the  woodshed  roof  had  been 
used  for  the  exercise  of  his  function  in  the  cases  of 
Roddy  and  Maurice,  but  this  afternoon  he  had 
brought  with  him  a  new  one,  which  he  had  picked 
up  somewhere.  It  was  broader  and  thicker  than 
the  old  one,  and,  during  the  melancholy  prophecies 
of  his  fellows,  he  whittled  the  lesser  end  of  it  to  the 
likeness  of  a  handle.  Thus  engaged,  he  bore  no 
appearance  of  despondency;  on  the  contrary,  his 
eyes,  shining  brightly  in  the  candlelight,  indicated 
that  eager  thoughts  possessed  him,  while  from  time 
to  time  the  sound  of  a  chuckle  issued  from  his  simple 
African  throat.  Gradually  the  other  brothers  began 
to  notice  his  preoccupation,  and  one  by  one  they  fell 
silent,  regarding  him  thoughtfully.  5  Slowly  ,  the 
darkness  of  their  countenances  lifted  a  little;  some- 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       85 

thing  happier  and  brighter  began  to  glimmer  from 
each  boyish  face.  All  eyes  remained  fascinated 
upon  Verman. 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Penrod,  in  a  tone  that  was 
almost  cheerful,  "this  is  only  Tuesday.  We  got 
pretty  near  all  week  to  fix  up  the  'nishiation  for 
Saturday." 

And  Saturday  brought  sunshine  to  make  the 
occasion  more  tolerable  for  both  the  candidate  and 
the  society.  Mrs.  Williams,  going  to  the  window  to 
watch  Sam,  when  he  left  the  house  after  lunch,  marked 
with  pleasure  that  his  look  and  manner  were  sprightly 
as  he  skipped  down  the  walk  to  the  front  gate. 
There  he  paused  and  yodelled  for  a  time.  An  an- 
swering yodel  came  presently;  Penrod  Schofield 
appeared,  and  by  his  side  walked  Georgie  Bassett. 
Georgie  was  always  neat,  but  Mrs.  Williams  noticed 
that  he  exhibited  unusual  gloss  and  polish  to-day. 
As  for  his  expression,  it  was  a  shade  too  complacent 
under  the  circumstances,  though,  for  that  matter, 
perfect  tact  avoids  an  air  of  triumph  under  any 
circumstances.  MJrs.  Williams  was  pleased  to  ob- 
serve that  Sam  and  Penrod  betrayed  no  resentment 
whatever;  they  seemed  to  have  accepted  defeat  in  a 
good  spirit  and  to  be  inclined  to  make  the  best  of 


86  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Georgie.  Indeed,  they  appeared  to  be  genuinely 
excited  about  him — it  was  evident  that  their  cor- 
diality was  eager  and  wholehearted. 

The  three  boys  conferred  for  a  few  moments; 
then  Sam  disappeared  round  the  house  and  returned, 
waving  his  hand  and  nodding.  Upon  that,  Penrod 
took  Georgie's  left  arm,  Sam  took  his  right,  and  the 
three  marched  off  to  the  backyard  in  a  companion- 
able way  which  made  Mrs.  Williams  feel  that  it 
had  been  an  excellent  thing  to  interfere  a  little  in 
Georgie'st  interest. 

Experiencing  the  benevolent  warmth  that  comes 
of  assisting  in  a  good  action,  she  ascended  to  an 
apartment  upstairs,  and,  for  a  couple  of  hours,  em- 
ployed herself  with  needle  and  thread  in  sartorial 
repairs  on  behalf  of  her  husband  and  Sam.  Then 
she  was  interrupted  by  the  advent  of  a  coloured 
serving-maid. 

"Miz  Williams,  I  reckon  the  house  goin'  fall 
down!"  said  this  pessimist,  arriving  out  of  breath. 
"That  s'iety  o'  Mist'  Sam's  suttenly  tryin'  to  pull 
the  roof  down  on  ow  haids ! " 

"The  roof?"  Mrs.  Williams  inquired  mildly. 
"They  aren't  in  the  attic,  are  they?" 

"No'm;  they  in  the  celluh,  but  they  reachin*  fer 


I 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       87 

the  roof!  I  nev'  did  hear  no  sech  a  rumpus  an' 
squawkin'  an'  squawlin'  an'  fallin'  an'  whoopin'  an' 
whackin'  an'  bangin'!  They  troop  down  by  the 
outside  celluh  do',  n'en — bang! — they  bus'  loose, 
an'  been  goin'  on  ev'  since,  wuss'n  Bedlun!  Ef  they 
anything  down  celluh  ain'  broke  by  this  time,  it 
cain'  be  only  jes'  the  foundashum,  an'  I  bet  that 
ain't  goin'  stan'  much  longer!  I'd  gone  down  an' 
stop  'em,  but  I'm  'fraid  to.  Hones',  Miz  Williams, 
I'm  'fraid  o'  my  life  go  down  there,  all  that  Bedlun 
goin'  on.  I  thought  I  come  see  what  you  say." 

Mrs.  Williams  laughed. 

"We'll  have  to  stand  a  little  noise  in  the  house 
sometimes,  Fanny,  when  there  are  boys.  They're 
just  playing,  and  a  lot  of  noise  is  usually  a  pretty 
safe  sign." 

"Yes'm,"  said  Fanny.  "It's  yo'  house,  Miz 
Williams,  not  mine.  You  want  'em  tear  it  down, 
I'm  willin'." 

She  departed,  and  Mrs.  Williams  continued  to 
sew.  The  days  were  growing  short,  and  at  five 
o'clock  she  was  obliged  to  put  the  work  aside,  as 
her  eyes  did  not  permit  her  to  continue  it  by  artificial 
light.  Descending  to  the  lower  floor,  she  found  the 
house  silent,  and  when  she  opened  the  front  door 


88  PENROD  AND  SAM 

to  see  if  the  evening  paper  had  come,  she  beheld 
Sam,  Penrod,  and  Maurice  Levy  standing  near  the 
gate  engaged  in  quiet  conversation.  Penrod  and 
Maurice  departed  while  she  was  looking  for  the 
paper,  and  Sam  came  thoughtfully  up  the  walk. 

"Well,  Sam,"  she  said,  "it  wasn't  such  a  bad  thing, 
after  all,  to  show  a  little  politeness  to  Georgie 
Bassett,  was  it?" 

Sam  gave  her  a  non-committal  look — expression 
of  every  kind  had  been  wiped  from  his  countenance. 
He  presented  a  blank  surface. 

"No'm,"  he  said  meekly. 

"Everything  was  just  a  little  pleasanter  because 
you'd  been  friendly,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes'm." 

"Has  Georgie  gone  home?" 

"Yes'm." 

"I  hear  you  made  enough  noise  in  the  cellar 

Did  Georgie  have  a  good  time?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Did  Georgie  Bassett  have  a  good  time?" 

"Well" — Sam  now  had  the  air  of  a  person  trying 
to  remember  details  with  absolute  accuracy — "well, 
he  didn't  say  he  did,  and  he  didn't  say  he  didn't." 

"Didn't  he  thank  the  boys?" 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       89 

"No'm." 

"Didn't  he  even  thank  you?" 

"No'm." 

"Why,  that's  queer,"  she  said.  "He's  always  so 
polite.  He  seemed  to  be  having  a  good  time,  didn't 
he,  Sam?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Didn't  Georgie  seem  to  be  enjoying  himself?" 

This  question,  apparently  so  simple,  was  not  an- 
swered with  promptness.  Sam  looked  at  his  mother 
in  a  puzzled  way,  and  then  he  found  it  necessary  to 
rub  each  of  his  shins  in  turn  with  the  palm  of  his- 
right  hand. 

"I  stumbled,"  he  said  apologetically.  "I  stum- 
bled on  the  cellar  steps." 

"Did  you  hurt  yourself?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"No'm;  but  I  guess  maybe  I  better  rub  some 
arnica " 

"I'll  get  it,"  she  said.  "Come  up  to  your  father's 
bathroom,  Sam.  Does  it  hurt  much?" 

"No'm,"  he  answered  truthfully,  "it  hardly  hurts, 
at  all." 

And  having  followed  her  to  the  bathroom,  he 
insisted,  with  unusual  gentleness,  that  he  be  left  to 
apply  the  arnica  to  the  alleged  injuries  himself* 


90  PENROD  AND  SAM 

He  was  so  persuasive  that  she  yielded,  and  descended 
to  the  library,  where  she  found  her  husband  once 
more  at  horns  after  his  day's  work. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "Did  Georgie  show  up,  and 
were  they  decent  to  him?" 

"Oh,  yes;  it's  all  right.  Sam  and  Penrod  were 
good  as  gold.  I  saw  them  being  actually  cordial 
to  him." 

"That's  well,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  settling  into  a 
chair  with  his  paper.  "I  was  a  little  apprehensive, 
but  I  suppose  I  was  mistaken.  I  walked  home,  and 
just  now,  as  I  passed  Mrs.  Bassett's,  I  saw  Doctor 
Venny's  car  in  front,  and  that  barber  from  the 
corner  shop  on  Second  Street  was  going  in  the  door. 
I  couldn't  think  what  a  widow  would  need  a  barber 
and  a  doctor  for — especially  at  the  same  time.  I 
couldn't  think  what  Georgie'd  need  such  a  combi- 
nation for  either,  and  then  I  got  afraid  that  maybe " 

Mrs.  Williams  laughed.  "Oh,  no;  it  hasn't  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  having  been  over  here.  I'm  sure 
they  were  very  nice  to  him." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that." 

"Yes,  indeed "  Mrs.  Williams  began,  when 

Fanny  appeared,  summoning  her  to  the  telephone. 

It  is  pathetically  true  that  Mrs.  Williams  went  to 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       91 

the  telephone  humming  a  little  song.  She  was  de- 
tained at  the  instrument  not  more  than  five  minutes; 
then  she  made  a  plunging  return  into  the  library,  a 
blanched  and  stricken  woman.  She  made  strange, 
sinister  gestures  at  her  husband. 

He  sprang  up,  miserably  prophetic. 

"Mrs.  Bassett?" 

"Goto  the  telephone,"  Mrs.  Williams  said  hoarsely, 
"She  wants  to  talk  to  you,  too.  She  can't  talk 
much — she's  hysterical.  She  says  they  lured  Georgie 
into  the  cellar  and  had  him  beaten  by  negroes! 
That's  not  all " 

Mr.  Williams  was  already  on  his  way. 

"You  find  Sam!"  he  commanded,  over  his  shoul- 
der. 

Mrs.  Williams  stepped  into  the  front  hall. 

"Sam!"  she  called,  addressing  the  upper  reaches 
of  the  stairway.  "Sam!" 

Not  even  echo  answered. 

"Sam!" 

A  faint  clearing  of  somebody's  throat  was  heard 
behind  her,  a  sound  so  modest  and  unobtrusive  it 
was  no  more  than  just  audible,  and,  turning,  the 
mother  beheld  her  son  sitting  upon  the  floor  in  the 
shadow  of  the  stairs  and  gazing  meditatively  at 


92  PENROD  AND  SAM 

the  hatrack.  His  manner  indicated  that  he  wished 
to  produce  the  impression  that  he  had  been  sitting 
there,  in  this  somewhat  unusual  place  and  occu- 
pation, for  a  considerable  time,  but  without  over- 
hearing anything  that  went  on  in  the  library  so 
close  by. 

"Sam,"  she  cried,  "what  have  you  done  ?" 

"Well — I  guess  my  legs  are  all  right,"  he  said 
gently.  "I  got  the  arnica  on,  so  probably  they 
won't  hurt  any  m " 

"Stand  up!  "she  said. 

"Ma'am?" 

"March  into  the  library!" 

Sam  marched — slow-time.  In  fact,  no  funeral 
inarch  has  been  composed  in  a  time  so  slow  as  to 
suit  this  march  of  Sam's.  One  might  have  suspected 
that  he  was  in  a  state  of  apprehension. 

Mr.  Williams  entered  at  one  door  as  his  son 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  other,  and  this  encounter 
was  a  piteous  sight.  After  one  glance  at  his  father's 
face,  Sam  turned  desperately,  as  if  to  flee  outright. 
But  Mrs.  Williams  stood  in  the  doorway  behind  him. 

"You  come  here!"  And  the  father's  voice  was  as 
terrible  as  his  face.  "What  did  you  do  to  Georgie 
Bassett?" 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       93 

"Nothin',"  Sam  gulped;  "nothin'  at  all." 

"What!" 

"We  just — we  just  'nishiated  Iiim." 

Mr.  Williams  turned  abruptly,  walked  to  the 
fireplace,  and  there  turned  again,  facing  the  wretched 
Sam. 

"That's  all  you  did?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Georgie  Bassett's  mother  has  just  told  me  over 
the  telephone,"  said  Mr.  Williams  deliberately, 
"that  you  and  Penrod  Schofield  and  Roderick  Bitts 
and  Maurice  Levy  lured  Georgie  into  the  cellar  and 
had  him  beaten  by  negroes  I " 

At  this,  Sam  was  able  to  hold  up  his  head  a  little 
and  to  summon  a  rather  feeble  indignation. 

"It  ain't  so,"  he  declared.  "We  didn't  any  such 
thing  lower  him  into  the  cellar.  We  weren't  goin* 
near  the  cellar  with  him.  We  never  thought  of  goin' 
down  cellar.  He  went  down  there  himself,  first." 

"So!  I  suppose  he  was  running  away  from  you, 
poor  thing!  Trying  to  escape  from  you,  wasn't 
he?" 

"He  wasn't,"  said  Sam  doggedly.  "We  weren't 
ehasin'  him — or  anything  at  all." 

"Then  why  did  he  go  in  the  cellar?" 


94  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Well,  he  didn't  exactly  go  in  the  cellar,"  said 
Sam  reluctantly. 

"Well,  how  did  he  get  in  the  cellar,  then?" 

"He— he  fell  in,"  said  Sam. 

"flW  did  he  fall  in?" 

"Well,  the  door  was  open,  and — well,  he  kept 
walkin'  around  there,  and  we  hollered  at  him  to 
keep  away,  but  just  then  he  kind  of — well,  the  first 
I  noticed  was  I  couldn't  see  him,  and  so  we  went 
and  looked  down  the  steps,  and  he  was  sitting  down 
there  on  the  bottom  step  and  kind  of  shouting, 
and " 


"See  here!"  Mr.  Williams  interrupted.  "You're 
going  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  this  whole  affair  and 
take  the  consequences.  You're  going  to  tell  it  and 
tell  it  all.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  you  tell  me  how  Georgie  Bassett  fell  down 
the  cellar  steps — and  tell  me  quick!" 

"He— he  was  blindfolded." 

"Aha!  Now  we're  getting  at  it.  You  begin  at 
the  beginning  and  tell  me  just  what  you  did  to  him 
from  the  time  he  got  here.  Understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Goon,  then!" 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       95 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  to,"  Sam  protested.  "We 
never  hurt  him  at  all.  He  wasn't  even  hurt  when 
he  fell  down  cellar.  There's  a  lot  of  mud  down 
there,  because  the  cellar  door  leaks,  and " 

"Sam!"  Mr.  Williams's  tone  was  deadly.  "Did 
you  hear  me  tell  you  to  begin  at  the  beginning?" 

Sam  made  a  great  effort  and  was  able  to  obey. 

"Well,  we  had  everything  ready  for  the  'nishi- 
ation  before  lunch,"  he  said.  "We  wanted  it  all 
to  be  nice,  because  you  said  we  had  to  have  him, 
papa,  and  after  lunch  Penrod  went  to  guard  him—- 
that's a  new  part  in  the  rixual — and  he  brought 
him  over,  and  we  took  him  out  to  the  shack  and 
blindfolded  him,  and — well,  he  got  kind  of  mad  be- 
cause we  wanted  him  to  lay  down  on  his  stummick 
and  be  tied  up,  and  he  said  he  wouldn't,  because  the 
floor  was  a  little  bit  wet  in  there  and  he  could  feel  it 
sort  of  squashy  under  his  shoes,  and  he  said  his 
mother  didn't  want  him  ever  to  get  dirty  and  he  just 
wouldn't  do  it;  and  we  all  kept  telling  him  he  had 
to,  or  else  how  could  there  be  any  'nishiation;  and 
he  kept  gettin'  madder  and  said  he  wanted  to  have 
the  'nishiation  outdoors  where  it  wasn't  wet  and  he 
wasn't  goin'  to  lay  down  on  his  stummick,  anyway." 
Sam  paused  for  wind,  then  got  under  way  again: 


96  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Well,  some  of  the  boys  were  tryin'  to  get  him  to 
lay  down  on  his  stummick,  and  he  kind  of  fell  up 
against  the  door  and  it  came  open  and  he  ran  out 
in  the  yard.  He  was  tryin'  to  get  the  blindfold  off 
his  eyes,  but  he  couldn't,  because  it  was  a  towel  in 
a  pretty  hard  knot;  and  he  went  tearin'  all  around 
the  backyard,  and  we  didn't  chase  him,  or  anything. 
All  we  did  was  just  watch  him — and  that's  when  he 
fell  in  the  cellar.  Well,  it  didn't  hurt  him  any.  It 
didn't  hurt  him  at  all,  but  he  was  muddier  than 
what  he  would  of  been  if  he'd  just  had  sense  enough 
to  lay  down  in  the  shack.  Well,  so  we  thought, 
long  as  he  was  down  in  the  cellar  anyway,  we  might 
as  well  have  the  rest  of  the  'nishiation  down  there. 
So  we  brought  the  things  down  and — and  'nishiated 
him — and  that's  all.  That's  every  bit  we  did  to 
him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Williams  sardonically;  "I  see. 
What  were  the  details  of  the  initiation?" 

"Sir?" 

"I  want  to  know  what  else  you  did  to  him?  What 
was  the  initiation?" 

"It's — it's  secret,"  Sam  murmured  piteously. 

"Not  any  longer,  I  assure  you!  The  society  is  a 
thing  of  the  past  and  you'll  find  your  friend  Pen- 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       97 

rod's  parents  agree  with  me  in  that.  Mrs.  Bassett 
had  already  telephoned  them  when  she  called  us 
up.  You  go  on  with  your  story!" 

Sam  sighed  deeply,  and  yet  it  may  have  been  a 
consolation  to  know  that  his  present  misery  was 
not  altogether  without  its  counterpart.  Through 
the  falling  dusk  his  spirit  may  have  crossed  the 
intervening  distance  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  friend 
suffering  simultaneously  and  standing  within  the 
same  peril.  And  if  Sam's  spirit  did  thus  behold 
Penrod  in  jeopardy,  it  was  a  true  vision. 

"Go  on!"  said  Mr.  Williams. 

"Well,  there  wasn't  any  fire  in  the  furnace  be- 
cause it's  too  warm  yet,  and  we  weren't  goin'  to  do 
anything'd  hurt  him,  so  we  put  him  in  there  -  " 


"It  was  cold,"  protested  Sam.  "There  hadn't 
been  any  fire  there  since  last  spring.  Course  we 
told  him  there  was  fire  in  it.  We  had  to  do  that," 
he  continued  earnestly,  "because  that  was  part  of 
the  'nishiation.  We  only  kept  him  in  it  a  little 
while  and  kind  of  hammered  on  the  outside  a  little, 
and  then  we  took  him  out  and  got  him  to  lay  down 
onjiis  stummick,  because  he  was  all  muddy  anyway, 
where  he  fell  down  the  cellar;  and  how  could  it 


98  PENROD  AND  SAM 

matter  to  anybody  that  had  any  sense  at  all?  Well, 
then  we  had  the  rixual,  and — and — why,  the  teeny 
little  paddlin'  he  got  wouldn't  hurt  a  flea!  It  was 
that  little  coloured  boy  lives  in  the  alley  did  it — he 
isn't  anyways  near  half  Georgie's  size — but  Georgie 
got  mad  and  said  he  didn't  want  any  ole  nigger  to 
paddle  him.  That's  what  he  said,  and  it  was  his 
own  foolishness,  because  Verman  won't  let  anybody 
call  him  'nigger/  and  if  Georgie  was  goin'  to  call 
him  that,  he  ought  to  had  sense  enough  not  to  do  it 
when  he  was  layin'  down  that  way  and  Verman  all 
ready  to  be  the  paddler.  And  he  needn't  of  been  so 
mad  at  the  rest  of  us,  either,  because  it  took  us  about 
twenty  minutes  to  get  the  paddle  away  from  Verman 
after  that,  and  we  had  to  lock  Verman  up  in  the 
laundry-room  and  not  let  him  out  till  it  was  all  over. 
Well,  and  then  things  were  kind  of  spoiled,  anyway; 
so  we  didn't  do  but  just  a  little  more — -and  that's 
all." 

"  Go  on !  What  was  the  'just  a  little  more?5 " 
"Well — we  got  him  to  s waller  a  little  teeny  bit  of 
asafidity  that  Penrod  used  to  have  to  wear  in  a  bag 
around  his  neck.  It  wasn't  enough  to  even  make  a 
person  sneeze — it  wasn't  much  rnore'n  a  half  a 
spoonful — it  wasn't  hardly  a  quarter  of  a  spoonf " 


"  'Well,  then  we  had,  rixual,  and — and — why,  the  teeny  little  paddlin' 
he  got  wouldn't  hurt  a  flea! " 


GEORGIE  BECOMES  A  MEMBER       99 

"Ha!"  said  Mr.  Williams.  "That  accounts  for 
the  doctor.  What  else?  " 

"Well — we — we  had  some  paint  left  over  from 
our  flag,  and  we  put  just  a  little  teeny  bit  of  it  on 
his  hair  and " 

"Ha!"  said  Mr.  Williams.  "That  accounts  for 
the  barber.  What  else  ?  " 

"That's  all,"  said  Sam,  swallowing.  "Then  he 
got  mad  and  went  home." 

Mr.  Williams  walked  to  the  door,  and  sternly 
motioned  to  the  culprit  to  precede  him  through  it. 
But  just  before  the  pair  passed  from  her  sight,  Mrs. 
Williams  gave  way  to  an  uncontrollable  impulse. 

"Sam,"  she  asked,  "what  does  'In-Or-In'  stand 
for?" 

The  unfortunate  boy  had  begun  to  sniffle. 

"It — it  means — Innapenent  Order  of  Infadelaty," 
he  moaned — and  plodded  onward  to  his  doom. 

Not  his  alone:  at  that  very  moment  Master 
Roderick  Mags  worth  Bitts,  Junior,  was  suffering 
also,  consequent  upon  telephoning  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Bassett,  though  Roderick's  punishment  was 
administered  less  on  the  ground  of  Georgie's  troubles 
and  more  on  that  of  Roddy's  having  affiliated  with 
an  order  consisting  so  largely  of  Herman  and  Ver- 


100  PENROD  AND  SAM 

man. .  As  for  Maurice  Levy,  he  was  no  whit  less  un- 
happy. He  fared  as  ill. 

Simultaneously,  two  ex-members  of  the  In-Or-In 
were  finding  their  lot  fortunate.  Something  had 
prompted  them  to  linger  in  the  alley  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  shack,  and  it  was  to  this  fated  edifice  that  Mr. 
Williams,  with  demoniac  justice,  brought  Sam  for 
the  deed  he  had  in  mind. 

Herman  and  Verman  listened — awe-stricken — 
to  what  went  on  within  the  shack.  Then,  before 
it  was  over,  they  crept  away  and  down  the  alley 
toward  their  own  home.  This  was  directly  across 
the  alley  from  the  Schofields'  stable,  and  they  were 
horrified  at  the  sounds  which  issued  from  the  interior 
of  the  stable  store-room.  It  was  the  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's Eve  of  that  neighbourhood. 

"Man,  man!"  said  Herman,  shaking  his  head. 
"Glad  I  ain'  no  white  boy!" 

Verman  seemed  gloomily  to  assent. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHITEY 

PENROD  and  Sam  made  a  gloomy  discovery 
one  morning  in  mid-October.  All  the  week 
had  seen  amiable  breezes  and  fair  skies  until 
Saturday,  when,  about  breakfast-time,  the  dome  of 
heaven  filled  solidly  with  gray  vapour  and  began  to 
drip.  The  boys'  discovery  was  that  there  is  no 
justice  about  the  weather. 

They  sat  in  the  carriage-house  of  the  Schofields' 
empty  stable;  the  doors  upon  the  alley  were  open, 
and  Sam  and  Penrod  stared  torpidly  at  the  thin 
but  implacable  drizzle  which  was  the  more  irri- 
tating because  there  was  barely  enough  of  it  to  inter- 
fere with  a  number  of  things  they  had  planned  to 
do. 

"  Yes ;  this  is  nice  !  "  Sam  said,  in  a  tone  of  plain- 
tive sarcasm.  "  This  is  a  perty  way  to  do ! "  (He  was 
alluding  to  the  personal  spitefulness  of  the  elements.) 
"I'd  like  to  know  what's  the  sense  of  it — ole  sun 

pourin'  down  every  day  in  the  week  when  nobody 

101 


102  PENROD  AND  SAM 

needs  it,  then  cloud  up  and  rain  all  Saturday!  My 
father  said  it's  goin'  to  be  a  three  days'  rain." 

"Well,  nobody  with  any  sense  cares  if  it  rains 
Sunday  and  Monday,"  said  Penrod.  "I  wouldn't 
care  if  it  rained  every  Sunday  as  long  I  lived;  but 
I  just  like  to  know  what's  the  reason  it  had  to  go 
and  rain  to-day.  Got  all  the  days  o'  the  week  to 
choose  from  and  goes  and  picks  on  Saturday.  That's 
a  fine  biz'nuss!" 

"Well,  in  vacation "  Sam  began,  but  at  a  sound 

from  a  source  invisible  to  him  he  paused.  "What's 
that?"  he  said,  somewhat  startled. 

It  was  a  curious  sound,  loud  and  hollow  and  un- 
human,  yet  it  seemed  to  be  a  cough.  Both  boys 
rose,  and  Penrod  asked  uneasily: 

"Where'd  that  noise  come  from?" 

"It's  in  the  alley,"  said  Sam. 

Perhaps  if  the  day  had  been  bright,  both  of  them 
would  have  stepped  immediately  to  the  alley  doors 
to  investigate;  but  their  actual  procedure  was  to 
move  a  little  distance  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  strange  cough  sounded  again. 

"  Say  I "  Penrod  quavered.     "  What  is  that?  " 

Then  both  boys  uttered  smothered  exclamations 
and  jumped,  for  the  long,  gaunt  head  which  appeared 


WHITEY  103 

in  the  doorway  was  entirely  unexpected.  It  was 
the  cavernous  and  melancholy  head  of  an  incredibly 
thin,  old,  whitish  horse.  This  head  waggled  slowly 
from  side  to  side;  the  nostrils  vibrated;  the  mouth 
opened,  and  the  hollow  cough  sounded  again. 

Recovering  themselves,  Penrod  and  Sam  under- 
went the  customary  human  reaction  from  alarm  to 
indignation. 

"What  you  want,  you  ole  horse,  you?"  Penrod 
shouted.  "  Don't  you  come  coughin*  around  me  !  " 

And  Sam,  seizing  a  stick,  hurled  it  at  the  intruder. 

"  Get  out  o'  here ! "  he  roared. 

The  aged  horse  nervously  withdrew  his  head, 
turned  tail,  and  made  a  rickety  flight  up  the  alley, 
while  Sam  and  Penrod,  perfectly  obedient  to  in- 
herited impulse,  ran  out  into  the  drizzle  and  up- 
roariously pursued.  They  were  but  automatons  of 
instinct,  meaning  no  evil.  Certainly  they  did  not 
know  the  singular  and  pathetic  history  of  the  old 
horse  who  had  wandered  into  the  alley  and  ven- 
tured to  look  through  the  open  door. 

This  horse,  about  twice  the  age  of  either  Penrod 
or  Sam,  had  lived  to  find  himself  in  a  unique  position. 
He  was  nude,  possessing  neither  harness  nor  halter; 
all  he  had  was  a  name,  Whitey,  and  he  would  have 


104  PENROD  AND  SAM 

answered  to  it  by  a  slight  change  of  expression  if 
any  one  had  thus  properly  addressed  him.  So  for- 
lorn was  Whitey's  case,  he  was  actually  an  inde- 
pendent horse;  he  had  not  even  an  owner.  For  two 
days  and  a  half  he  had  been  his  own  master. 

Previous  to  that  period  he  had  been  the  property 
of  one  Abalene  Morris,  a  person  of  colour,  who 
would  have  explained  himself  as  engaged  in  the 
hauling  business.  On  the  contrary,  the  hauling 
business  was  an  insignificant  side  line  with  Mr. 
Morris,  for  he  had  long  ago  given  himself,  as  utterly 
as  fortune  permitted,  to  that  talent  which,  early  in 
youth,  he  had  recognized  as  the  greatest  of  all  those 
surging  in  his  bosom.  In  his  waking  thoughts  and 
in  his  dreams,  in  health  and  in  sickness,  Abalene 
Morris  was  the  dashing  and  emotional  practitioner 
of  an  art  probably  more  than  Roman  in  antiquity. 
Abalene  was  a  crap-shooter.  The  hauling  business 
was  a  disguise. 

A  concentration  of  events  had  brought  it  about 
that,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  Abalene,  after  a 
dazzling  run  of  the  dice,  found  the  hauling  business 
an  actual  danger  to  the  preservation  of  his  liberty. 
He  won  seventeen  dollars  and  sixty  cents,  and  within 
the  hour  found  himself  in  trouble  with  an  officer  of 


WHITEY  105 

the  Humane  Society  on  account  of  an  altercation 
with  Whitey.  Abalene  had  been  offered  four 
dollars  for  Whitey  some  ten  days  earlier;  wherefore 
he  at  once  drove  to  the  shop  of  the  junk-dealer  who 
had  made  the  offer  and  announced  his  acquiescence 
in  the  sacrifice. 

"No,  suh!"  said  the  junk-dealer,  with  emphasis. 
"I  awready  done  got  me  a  good  mule  fer  my  deliv'ry- 
hoss,  'n'at  ole  Whitey  hoss  ain'  wuff  no  fo'  dollah 
nohow!  I  'uz  a  fool  when  I  talk  'bout  th'owin' 
money  roun'  that  a- way.  /  know  what  you  up  to, 
Abalene.  Man  come  by  here  li'l  bit  ago  tole  me  all 
'bout  white  man  try  to  'rest  you,  ovah  on  the 
avvynoo.  Yessuh;  he  say  white  man  goin'  to  git 
you  yit  an'  th'ow  you  in  jail  'count  o'  Whitey. 
White  man  tryin'  to  fine  out  who  you  is.  He  say, 
nemmine,  he'll  know  Whitey  ag'in,  even  if  he  don' 
know  you!  He  say  he  ketch  you  by  the  hoss;  so 
you  come  roun'  tryin'  fix  me  up  with  Whitey  so 
white  man  grab  me,  th'ow  me  in  'at  jail.  G'on 
'way  f'um  hyuh,  you  Abalene!  You  cain'  sell  an' 
you  cain'  give  Whitey  to  no  cullud  man  'n  'is  town. 
You  go  an'  drowned  'at  ole  hoss,  'cause  you  sutny 
goin'  to  jail  if  you  git  ketched  drivin'  him." 

The   substance   of   this   advice   seemed   good   to 


106  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Abalene,  especially  as  the  seventeen  dollars  and 
sixty  cents  in  his  pocket  lent  sweet  colours  to  life 
out  of  jail  at  this  time.  At  dusk  he  led  Whitey  to  a 
broad  common  at  the  edge  of  town,  and  spoke  to 
him  finally. 

"G'on  'bout  you  biz'nis,"  said  Abalene;  "you 
ain'  my  hoss.  Don'  look  roun'  at  me,  'cause  I  ain' 
got  no  'quaintance  wif  you.  I'm  a  man  o'  money, 
an'  I  got  my  own  frien's;  I'm  a-lookin'  fer  bigger 
cities,  hoss.  You  got  you'  biz'nis  an'  I  got  mine. 
Mista'  Hoss,  good-night!" 

Whitey  found  a  little  frosted  grass  upon  the 
common  and  remained  there  all  night.  In  the  morn- 
ing he  sought  the  shed  where  Abalene  had  kept 
him,  but  that  was  across  the  large  and  busy  town, 
and  Whitey  was  hopelessly  lost.  He  had  but  one 
eye,  a  feeble  one,  and  his  legs  were  not  to  be  de- 
pended upon;  but  he  managed  to  cover  a  great  deal 
of  ground,  to  have  many  painful  little  adventures, 
and  to  get  monstrously  hungry  and  thirsty  before 
he  happened  to  look  in  upon  Penrod  and  Sam. 

When  the  two  boys  chased  him  up  the  alley  they 
had  no  intention  to  cause  pain;  they  had  no  intention 
at  all.  They  were  no  more  cruel  than  Duke,  Penrod's 
little  old  dog,  who  followed  his  own  instincts,  and, 


WfflTEY  107 

making  his  appearance  hastily  through  a  hole  in  the 
back  fence,  joined  the  pursuit  with  sound  and  fury.  A 
boy  will  nearly  always  run  after  anything  that  is  run- 
ning, and  his  first  impulse  is  to  throw  a  stone  at  it. 
This  is  a  survival  of  primeval  man,  who  must  take 
every  chance  to  get  his  dinner.  So,  when  Penrod  and 
Sam  drove  the  hapless  Whitey  up  the  alley,  they 
were  really  responding  to  an  impulse  thousands  and 
thousands  of  years  old — an  impulse  founded  upon 
the  primordial  observation  that  whatever  runs  is 
likely  to  prove  edible,  Penrod  and  Sana  were  not 
"  bad  " ;  they  were  never  that.  They  were  something 
which  was  not  their  fault;  they  were  historic. 

At  the  next  corner  Whitey  turned  to  the  right 
into  the  cross-street;  thence,  turning  to  the  right 
again  and  still  warmly  pursued,  he  zigzagged  down 
a  main  thoroughfare  until  he  reached  another  cross- 
street,  which  ran  alongside  the  Schofields'  yard  and 
brought  him  to  the  foot  of  the  alley  he  had  left 
behind  in  his  flight.  He  entered  the  alley,  and 
there  his  dim  eye  fell  upon  the  open  door  he  had 
previously  investigated.  No  memory  of  it  re- 
mained, but  the  place  had  a  look  associated  in  his 
mind  with  hay,  and  as  Sam  and  Penrod  turned  the 
corner  of  the  alley  in  panting  yet  still  vociferous 


108  PENROD  AND  SAM 

pursuit,  Whitey  stumbled  up  the  inclined  platform 
before  the  open  doors,  staggered  thunderously  across 
the  carriage-house  and  through  another  open  door 
into  a  stall,  an  apartment  vacant  since  the  occupancy 
of  Mr.  Schofield's  last  horse,  now  several  years  de- 
ceased. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SALVAGE 

THE  two  boys  shrieked  with  excitement  as 
they  beheld  the  coincidence  of  this  strange 
return.    They  burst  into  the  stable,  making 
almost  as  much  noise  as  Duke,  who  had  become 
frantic  at  the  invasion.     Sam  laid  hands  upon  a 
rake. 
"You  get  out  o'  there,  you  ole  horse,  you!"  he 

bellowed.     "I  ain't  afraid  to  drive  him  out.     I " 

66 Wait  a  minute!"  shouted  Penrod.     "Wait  till 


Sam  was  manfully  preparing  to  enter  the  stall. 

"You  hold  the  doors  open,"  he  commanded,  "so's 
they  won't  blow  shut  and  keep  him  in  here.  I'm 
goin'  to  hit  him  with " 

"Quee-2/w£  /"  Penrod  shouted,  grasping  the  handle 
of  the  rake  so  that  Sam  could  not  use  it.  "Wait  a 
minute,  can't  you?"  He  turned  with  ferocious  voice 
and  gestures  upon  Duke.  "Duke!"  And  Duke, 
in  spite  of  his  excitement,  was  so  impressed  that  he 

109 


110  PENROD  AND  SAM 

prostrated  himself  in  silence,  and  then  unobtrusively 
withdrew  from  the  stable.  Penrod  ran  to  the  alley 
doors  and  closed  them. 

"My  gracious!"  Sam  protested.  "What  you 
goin'  to  do?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  keep  this  horse,"  said  Penrod,  whose 
face  showed  the  strain  of  a  great  idea. 

"  What /or  f" 

"For  the  reward,"  said  Penrod  simply. 

Sam  sat  down  in  the  wheelbarrow  and  stared  at 
his  friend  almost  with  awe. 

"My  gracious,"  he  said,  "I  never  thought  o'  that! 
How — how  much  do  you  think  we'll  get,  Penrod?" 

Sam's  thus  admitting  himself  to  a  full  partner- 
ship in  the  enterprise  met  no  objection  from  Penrod, 
who  was  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  Whitey. 

"Well,"  he  said  judicially,  "we  might  get  more  and 
we  might  get  less." 

Sam  rose  and  joined  his  friend  in  the  doorway  open- 
ing upon  the  two  stalls.  Whitey  had  preempted  the 
nearer,  and  was  hungrily  nuzzling  the  old  frayed 
hollows  in  the  manger. 

"Maybe  a  hundred  dollars — or  sumpthing?" 
Sam  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Penrod  maintained  his  composure  and  repeated 


SALVAGE  111 

the  new-found  expression  which  had  sounded  well 
to  him  a  moment  before.  He  recognized  it  as  a 
symbol  of  the  non-committal  attitude  that  makes 
people  looked  up  to.  "Well" — he  made  it  slow, 
and  frowned — "we  might  get  more  and  we  might 
get  less." 

"More'n  a  hundred  dollars  ?"  Sam  gasped. 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  "we  might  get  more  and  we 
might  get  less."  This  time,  however,  he  felt  the 
need  of  adding  something.  He  put  a  question  in  an 
indulgent  tone,  as  though  he  were  inquiring,  not  to 
add  to  his  own  information  but  to  discover  the  ex- 
tent of  Sam's.  "How  much  do  you  think  horses 
are  worth,  anyway?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sam  frankly,  and,  uncon- 
sciously, he  added,  "They  might  be  more  and  they 
might  be  less." 

"Well,  when  our  ole  horse  died,"  said  Penrod, 
"papa  said  he  wouldn't  taken  five  hundred  dollars 
for  him.  That's  how  much  horses  are  worth!" 

"My  gracious!"  Sam  exclaimed.  Then  he  had  a 
practical  afterthought.  "But  maybe  he  was  a  better 
horse  than  this'n.  What  colour  was  he?" 

"He  was  bay.  Looky  here,  Sam" — and  now 
Penrod's  manner  changed  from  the  superior  to  the 


112  PENROD  AND  SAM 

eager — "you  look  what  kind  of  horses  they  have  in 
a  circus,  and  you  bet  a  circus  has  the  best  horses, 
don't  it?  Well,  what  kind  of  horses  do  they  have 
in  a  circus?  They  have  some  black  and  white  ones, 
tjut  the  best  they  have  are  white  all  over.  Well, 
what  kind  of  a  horse  is  this  we  got  here?  He's  perty 
near  white  right  now,  and  I  bet  if  we  washed  him  off 
and  got  him  fixed  up  nice  he  would  be  white.  Well, 
a  bay  horse  is  worth  five  hundred  dollars,  because 
that's  what  papa  said,  and  this  horse " 

Sam  interrupted  rather  timidly. 

"He — he's  awful  bony,  Penrod.  You  don't  guess 
that'd  make  any " 

Penrod  laughed  contemptuously. 

"Bony!  All  he  needs  is  a  little  food  and  he'll 
fill  right  up  and  look  good  as  ever.  You  don't 
know  much  about  horses,  Sam,  I  expect.  Why, 
our  ole  horse " 

"Do  you  expect  he's  hungry  now?"  asked  Sam, 
staring  at  Whitey. 

"Let's  try  him,"  said  Penrod.  "Horses  like  hay 
and  oats  the  best,  but  they'll  eat  most  anything." 

"I  guess  they  will.  He's  tryin'  to  eat  that  manger 
up  right  now,  and  I  bet  it  ain't  good  for  him." 

"Come  on,"  said  Penrod,  closing  the  door  that 


SALVAGE  113 

gave  entrance  to  the  stalls.  "We  got  to  get  this 
horse  some  drinkin'-water  and  some  good  food." 

They  tried  Whitey's  appetite  first  with  an  au- 
tumnal branch  which  they  wrenched  from  a  hardy 
maple  in  the  yard.  They  had  seen  horses  nibble 
leaves,  and  they  expected  Whitey  to  nibble  the 
leaves  of  this  branch,  but  his  ravenous  condition  did 
not  allow  him  time  for  cool  discriminations.  Sam 
poked  the  branch  at  him  from  the  passageway,  and 
Whitey,  after  one  backward  movement  of  alarm, 
seized  it  venomously. 

"Here!  You  stop  that!"  Sam  shouted.  "You 
stop  that,  you  ole  horse,  you!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  called  Penrod  from  the 
hydrant,  where  he  was  filling  a  bucket.  "What's 
he  doin'  now?" 

"DoinM  He's  eatin'  the  wood  part,  too!  He's 
chewin'  up  sticks  as  big  as  baseball  bats!  He's 
crazy!" 

Penrod  rushed  to  see  this  sight,  and  stood  aghast. 

"Take  it  away  from  him,  Sam!"  he  commanded 
sharply. 

"Go  on,  take  it  away  from  him  yourself!"  was  the 
prompt  retort  of  his  comrade. 

"You  had  no  biz'nuss  to  give  it  to  him,"  said 


114  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Penrod.  "Anybody  with  any  sense  ought  to  know 
it'd  make  him  sick.  What'd  you  want  to  go  and 
give  it  to  him  for?" 

"Well,  you  didn't  say  not  to." 

"Well,  what  if  I  didn't?  I  never  said  I  did,  did 
I?  You  go  on  in  that  stall  and  take  it  away  from 
him." 

"Yes,  I  will!"  Sam  returned  bitterly.  Then,  as 
Whitey  had  dragged  the  remains  of  the  branch  from 
the  manger  to  the  floor  of  the  stall,  Sam  scrambled  to 
the  top  of  the  manger  and  looked  over.  "There 
ain't  much  left  to  take  away!  He's  swallered  it  all 
except  some  splinters.  Better  give  him  the  water  to 
try  and  wash  it  down  with."  And,  as  Penrod  com- 
plied, "My  gracious,  look  at  that  horse  drink!" 

They  gave  Whitey  four  buckets  of  water,  and  then 
debated  the  question  of  nourishment.  Obviously, 
this  horse  could  not  be  trusted  with  branches,  and, 
after  getting  their  knees  black  and  their  backs  sodden, 
they  gave  up  trying  to  pull  enough  grass  to  sustain 
him.  Then  Penrod  remembered  that  horses  like 
apples,  both  "cooking-apples"  and  "eating-apples," 
and  Sam  mentioned  the  fact  that  every  autumn  his 
father  received  a  barrel  of  "cooking-apples"  from  a 
cousin  who  owned  a  farm.  That  barrel  was  in  the 


SALVAGE  115 

Williams'  cellar  now,  and  the  cellar  was  providen- 
tially supplied  with  "outside  doors,"  so  that  it  could 
be  visited  without  going  through  the  house.  Sam 
and  Penrod  set  forth  for  the  cellar. 

They  returned  to  the  stable  bulging,  and,  after  a 
discussion  of  Whitey 's  digestion  (Sam  claiming  that 
eating  the  core  and  seeds,  as  Whitey  did,  would  grow 
trees  in  his  inside),  they  went  back  to  the  cellar  for 
supplies  again — and  again.  They  made  six  trips, 
carrying  each  time  a  capacity  cargo  of  apples,  and 
still  Whitey  ate  in  a  famished  manner.  They  were 
afraid  to  take  more  apples  from  the  barrel,  which 
began  to  show  conspicuously  the  result  of  their 
raids,  wherefore  Penrod  made  an  unostentatious  visit 
to  the  cellar  of  his  own  house.  From  the  inside  he 
opened  a  window  and  passed  vegetables  out  to  Sam, 
who  placed  them  in  a  bucket  and  carried  them  hur- 
riedly to  the  stable,  while  Penrod  returned  in  a  casual 
manner  through  the  house.  Of  his  sang-froid  under 
a  great  strain  it  is  sufficient  to  relate  that,  in  the 
kitchen,  he  said  suddenly  to  Delia,  the  cook,  "Oh, 
look  behind  you!"  and  by  the  time  Delia  discovered 
that  there  was  nothing  unusual  behind  her,  Penrod 
was  gone,  and  a  loaf  of  bread  from  the  kitchen  table 
was  gone  with  him. 


116  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Whitey  now  ate  nine  turnips,  two  heads  of  let- 
tuce, one  cabbage,  eleven  raw  potatoes,  and  the 
loaf  of  bread.  He  ate  the  loaf  of  bread  last  and  he 
was  a  long  time  about  it;  so  the  boys  came  to  a  not 
unreasonable  conclusion. 

"Well,  sir,  I  guess  we  got  him  filled  up  at  last!" 
said  Penrod.  "I  bet  he  wouldn't  eat  a  saucer  of 
ice-cream  now,  if  we'd  give  it  to  him!" 

"He  looks  better  to  me,"  said  Sam,  staring  criti- 
cally at  Whitey.  "I  think  he's  kind  of  begun  to 
fill  out  some.  I  expect  he  must  like  us,  Penrod; 
we  been  doin*  a  good  deal  for  this  horse." 

"Well,  we  got  to  keep  it  up,"  Penrod  insisted 
rather  pompously.  "Long  as  I  got  charge  o'  this 
horse,  he's  goin'  to  get  good  treatment." 

"What  we  better  do  now,  Penrod?" 

Penrod  took  on  the  outward  signs  of  deep  thought. 

"Well,  there's  plenty  to  do,  all  right.  I  got  to 
think." 

Sam  made  several  suggestions,  which  Penrod — 
maintaining  his  air  of  preoccupation — dismissed 
with  mere  gestures. 

"Oh,  I  know!"  Sam  cried  finally.  "Wre  ought 
to  wash  him  so's  he'll  look  whiter'n  what  he  does  now. 
We  can  turn  the  hose  on  him  acrost  the  manger." 


SALVAGE  117 

"No;  not  yet,"  said  Penrod.  "It's  too  soon  after 
his  meal.  You  ought  to  know  that  yourself.  What 
we  got  to  do  is  to  make  up  a  bed  for  him — if  he 
wants  to  lay  down  or  anything." 

"Make  up  a  what  for  him?"  Sam  echoed,  dum- 
f  ounded.  "  What  you  talkin'  about  ?  How  can " 

"Sawdust,"  said  Penrod.  "That's  the  way  the 
horse  we  used  to  have  used  to  have  it.  We'll  make 
this  horse's  bed  in  the  other  stall,  and  then  he  can 
go  in  there  and  lay  down  whenever  he  wants  to." 

"How  we  goin'  to  do  it?" 

"Look,  Sam;  there's  the  hole  into  the  sawdust-box! 
All  you  got  to  do  is  walk  in  there  with  the  shovel, 
stick  the  shovel  in  the  hole  till  it  gets  full  of  sawdust, 
and  then  sprinkle  it  around  on  the  empty  stall." 

"All  /  got  to  do!"  Sam  cried.  "What  are  you 
goin'  to  do?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  be  right  here,"  Penrod  answered 
reassuringly.  "He  won't  kick  or  anything,  and  it 
isn't  goin'  to  take  you  half  a  second  to  slip  around 
behind  him  to  the  other  stall." 

"What  makes  you  think  he  won't  kick?" 

"Well,  I  know  he  won't,  and,  besides,  you  could 
hit  him  with  the  shovel  if  he  tried  to.  Anyhow, 
I'll  be  right  here,  won't  I?" 


118  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  don't  care  where  you  are,"  Sam  said  earnestly. 
"What  difference  would  that  make  if  he  ki " 

"Why,  you  were  goin'  right  in  the  stall,"  Penrod 
reminded  him.  "When  he  first  came  in,  you  were 
goin'  to  take  the  rake  and " 

"I  don't  care  if  I  was,"  Sam  declared.  "I  was 
excited  then." 

"Well,  you  can  get  excited  now,  can't  you?"  his 
friend  urged.  "You  can  just  as  easy  get " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  shout  from  Sam,  who  was 
keeping  his  eye  upon  Whitey  throughout  the  dis- 
cussion. 

"Look!  Looky  there!"  And  undoubtedly  re- 
newing his  excitement,  Sam  pointed  at  the  long, 
gaunt  head  beyond  the  manger.  It  was  disappearing 
from  view.  "Look!"  Sam  shouted.  "He's  layin* 
down!" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Penrod,  "I  guess  he's  goin' 
to  take  a  nap.  If  he  wants  to  lay  down  without 
waitin'  for  us  to  get  the  sawdust  fixed  for  him,  that's 
his  lookout,  not  ours." 

On  the  contrary,  Sam  perceived  a  favourable  op- 
portunity for  action. 

"I  just  as  soon  go  and  make  his  bed  up  while  he's 
layin'  down,"  he  volunteered.  "You  climb  up  on 


SALVAGE  119 

the  manger  and  watch  him,  Penrod,  and  I'll  sneak  in 
the  other  stall  and  fix  it  all  up  nice  for  him,  so's  he 
can  go  in  there  any  time  when  he  wakes  up,  and  lay 
down  again,  or  anything;  and  if  he  starts  to  get  up, 
you  holler  and  I'll  jump  out  over  the  other  manger." 

Accordingly,  Penrod  established  himself  in  a 
position  to  observe  the  recumbent  figure.  Whitey's 
breathing  was  rather  laboured  but  regular,  and,  as 
Sam  remarked,  he  looked  "better,"  even  in  his 
slumber.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that,  although 
Whitey  was  suffering  from  a  light  attack  of  colic, 
his  feelings  were  in  the  main  those  of  contentment. 
After  trouble,  he  was  solaced;  after  exposure,  he  was 
sheltered;  after  hunger  and  thirst,  he  was  fed  and 
watered.  He  slept. 

The  noon  whistles  blew  before  Sam's  task  was 
finished,  but  by  the  time  he  departed  for  lunch  there 
was  made  a  bed  of  such  quality  that  Whitey  must 
needs  have  been  a  born  faultfinder  if  he  complained 
of  it.  The  friends  parted,  each  urging  the  other  to 
be  prompt  in  returning,  but  Penrod  got  into  threaten- 
ing difficulties  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IX 

REWARD   OF  MERIT 

PENROD,"  said  his  mother,  "what  did  you 
do  with  that  loaf  of  bread  Delia  says  you 
took  from  the  table?" 

"Ma'am?     What  loaf  o'  bread? " 

"I  believe  I  can't  let  you  go  outdoors  this  after- 
noon," Mrs.  Schofield  said  severely.  "If  you  were 
hungry,  you  know  perfectly  well  all  you  had  to  do 
was  to " 

"But  I  wasn't  hungry;  I " 

"You  can  explain  later,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield. 
"You'll  have  all  afternoon." 

Penrod's  heart  grew  cold. 

"I  can't  stay  in,"  he  protested.  "I've  asked  Sam 
WfHiams  to  come  over." 

'Til  telephone  Mrs.  Williams." 

"Mamma!"  Penrod's  voice  became  agonized. 
"I  had  to  give  that  bread  to  a — to  a  poor  ole  man. 
Me  was  starving  and  so  were  his  children  and  his 
wife.  They  were  all  just  starving — and  they  couldn't 

12ft 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  121 

wait  while  I  took  time  to  come  and  ask  you,  mamma. 
I  got  to  go  outdoors  this  afternoon.  I  got  toJ 
Sam's " 

She  relented. 

In  the  carriage-house,  half  an  hour  later,  Penrod 
gave  an  account  of  the  episode. 

"Where'd  we  been,  I'd  just  like  to  know,"  he 
concluded,  "if  I  hadn't  got  out  here  this  afternoon?" 

"Well,  I  guess  I  could  managed  him  all  right," 
said  Sam.  "I  was  in  the  passageway,  a  minute  ago, 
takin'  a  look  at  him.  He's  standin'  up  again.  I 
expect  he  wants  more  to  eat." 

"Well,  we  got  to  fix  about  that,"  said  Penrod. 
"But  what  I  mean — if  I'd  had  to  stay  in  the  house, 
where  would  we  been  about  the  most  important  thing 
in  the  whole  biz'nuss?" 

"What  you  talkin'  about?" 

"Well,  why  can't  you  wait  till  I  tell  you?"  Pen- 
rod's  tone  had  become  peevish.  For  that  matter, 

so  had  Sam's;  they  were  developing  one  of  the  little 

i 

differences,  or  quarrels,  that  composed  the  very  tex- 
ture of  their  friendship. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  tell  me,  then?" 
"Well,  how  can  I?"  Penrod  demanded.     "Y«u 
keep  talkin'  every  minute." 


122  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I'm  not  talkin'  now,  am  I?"  Sam  protested. 
"You  can  tell  me  now,  can't  you?  I'm  not  talk " 

"You  are,  too!"  shouted  Penrod.  "You  talk  all 
the  time!  You " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Whitey's  peculiar  cough. 
Both  boys  jumped  and  forgot  their  argument. 

"He  means  he  wants  some  more  to  eat,  I  bet," 
said  Sam. 

"Well,  if  he  does,  he's  got  to  wait,"  Penrod  de- 
clared. "We  got  to  get  the  most  important  thing  of 
all  fixed  up  first." 

"What's  that,  Penrod?" 

"  The  reward,"  said  Penrod  mildly.  "  That's  what 
I  was  tryin'  to  tell  you  about,  Sam,  if  you'd  ever 
give  me  half  a  chance." 

"Well,  I  did  give  you  a  chance.  I  kept  tellin9 
you  to  tell  me,  but " 

"You  never!    You  kept  sayin' " 

They  renewed  this  discussion,  protracting  it  in- 
definitely; but  as  each  persisted  in  clinging  to  his 
own  interpretation  of  the  facts,  the  question  still 
remains  unsettled.  It  was  abandoned,  or  rather,  it 
merged  into  another  during  the  later  stages  of  the 
debate,  this  other  being  concerned  with  which  of  the 
debaters  had  the  least  "sense."  Each  made  the 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  123 

plain  statement  that  if  he  were  more  deficient  than 
his  opponent  in  that  regard,  self-destruction  would 
be  his  only  refuge.  Each  declared  that  he  would 
"rather  die  than  be  talked  to  death";  and  then,  as 
the  two  approached  a  point  bluntly  recriminative, 
Whitey  coughed  again,  whereupon  they  were  mi- 
raculously silent,  and  went  into  the  passageway  in  a 
perfectly  amiable  manner. 

"I  got  to  have  a  good  look  at  him,  for  once," 
said  Penrod,  as  he  stared  frowningly  at  Whitey. 
"We  got  to  fix  up  about  that  reward." 

"I  want  to  take  a  good  ole  look  at  him  myself," 
said  Sam. 

After  supplying  Whitey  with  another  bucket  of 
water,  they  returned  to  the  carriage-house  and  seated 
themselves  thoughtfully.  In  truth,  they  were  some- 
thing a  shade  more  than  thoughtful;  the  adventure 
to  which  they  had  committed  themselves  was  begin- 
ning to  be  a  little  overpowering.  If  Whitey  had 
been  a  dog,  a  goat,  a  fowl,  or  even  a  stray  calf,  they 
would  have  felt  equal  to  him;  but  now  that  the 
earlier  glow  of  their  wild  daring  had  disappeared, 
vague  apprehensions  stirred.  Their  "good  look" 
at  Whitey  had  not  reassured  them — he  seemed  large, 
Gothic,  and  unusual. 


124  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Whisperings  within  them  began  to  urge  that  for 
boys  to  undertake  an  enterprise  connected  with  so 
huge  an  animal  as  an  actual  horse  was  perilous. 
Beaeath  the  surface  of  their  musings,  dim  but  omi- 
nous prophecies  moved;  both  boys  began  to  have 
the-  feeling  that,  somehow,  this  affair  was  going  to 
get  beyond  them  and  that  they  would  be  in  heavy 
trouble  before  it  was  over — they  knew  not  why. 
They  knew  why  no  more  than  they  knew  why  they 
felt  it  imperative  to  keep  the  fact  of  Whitey's  pres- 
ence in  the  stable  a  secret  from  their  respective 
families,  but  they  did  begin  to  realize  that  keeping 
a  secret  of  that  size  was  going  to  be  attended  with 
some  difficulty.  In  brief,  their  sensations  were 
becoming  comparable  to  those  of  the  man  who  stole 
a  house. 

Nevertheless,  after  a  short  period  given  to  un- 
spoken misgivings,  they  returned  to  the  subject  of 
the  reward.  The  money-value  of  bay  horses,  as 
compared  to  white,  was  again  discussed,  and  each 
announced  his  certainty  that  nothing  less  than  "a 
good  ole  hunderd  dollars"  would  be  offered  for  the 
return  of  Whitey. 

But  immediately  after  so  speaking  they  fell  into 
another  silence,  due  to  sinking  feelings.  They  had 


HGH 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  125 

spoken  loudly  and  confidently,  and  yet  they  knew, 
somehow,  that  such  things  were  not  to  be.  Ac- 
cording to  their  knowledge,  it  was  perfectly  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  they  would  receive  this  for- 
tune, but  they  frightened  themselves  in  speaking 
of  it;  they  knew  that  they  could  not  have  a  hundred 
dollars  for  their  own.  An  oppression,  as  from  some- 
thing awful  and  criminal,  descended  upon  them  at 
intervals. 

Presently,  however,  they  were  warmed  to  a  little 
cheerfulness  again  by  Penrod's  suggestion  that  they 
should  put  a  notice  in  the  paper.  Neither  of  them 
had  the  slightest  idea  how  to  get  it  there,  but  such 
details  as  that  were  beyond  the  horizon;  they  oc- 
cupied themselves  with  the  question  of  what  their 
advertisement  ought  to  "say."  Finding  that  they 
differed  irreconcilably,  Penrod  went  to  a  cache  of 
his  in  the  sawdust-box  and  brought  two  pencils  and 
a  supply  of  paper.  He  gave  one  of  the  pencils  and 
several  sheets  to  Sam;  then  both  boys  bent  them- 
selves in  silence  to  the  labour  of  practical  composi- 
tion. Penrod  produced  the  briefer  paragraph.  (See 
Fig.  I.)  Sam's  was  more  ample.  (See  Fig.  II.) 

Neither  Sam  nor  Penrod  showed  any  interest  in 
what  the  other  had  written,  but  both  felt  that  some- 


126  PENROD  AND  SAM 

thing  praiseworthy  had  been  accomplished.    Penrod 
exhaled  a  sigh,  as  of  relief,  and,  in  a  manner  he  had 
observed  his  father  use  sometimes,  he  said: 
^  "Thank  goodness,  that's  off  my  mind,  anyway!" 

"What  we  goin'  do  next,  Penrod?"  Sam  asked 
deferentially,  the  borrowed  manner  having  some 
effect  upon  him.  A 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  goin'  to  do,"  Penrod 
returned,  picking  up  the  old  cigarbox  which  had 
contained  the  paper  and  pencils.  "I'm  goin'  to  put 
mine  in  here,  so's  it'll  come  in  handy  when  I  haf  to 
get  at  it." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  keep  mine  there,  too,"  said  Sam. 
Thereupon  he  deposited  his  scribbled  slip  beside 
Penrod's  in  the  cigarbox,  and  the  box  was  solemnly 
returned  to  the  secret  place  whence  it  had  been  taken. 

"There,  that's  'tended  to!"  said  Sam,  and,  un- 
consciously imitating  his  friend's  imitation,  he  gave 
forth  audibly  a  breath  of  satisfaction  and  relief. 
Both  boys  felt  that  the  financial  side  of  their  great 
affair  had  been  conscientiously  looked  to,  that  the 
question  of  the  reward  was  settled,  and  that  every- 
thing was  proceeding  in  a  businesslike  manner. 
Therefore,  they  were  able  to  turn  their  attention  t* 
another  matter. 


REWARD  OF  MERIT 

This  was  the  question  of  Whitey's  next  meal. 
After  their  exploits  of  the  morning,  and  the  con- 
sequent impediment  of  Penrod,  they  decided  that 
nothing  more  was  to  be  done  in  apples,  vegetables, 
or  bread;  it  was  evident  that  Whitey  must  be  fed 
from  the  bosom  of  nature. 

"We  couldn't  pull  enough  o'  that  frostbit  ole  grass 
in  the  yard  to  feed  him,"  Penrod  said  gloomily. 
"We  could  work  a  week  and  not  get  enough  to  make 
him  swaller  more'n  about  twice.  All  we  got  this 
morning,  he  blew  most  of  it  away.  He'd  try  to 
scoop  it  in  toward  his  teeth  with  his  lip,  and  then 
he'd  haf  to  kind  of  blow  out  his  breath,  and  after 
that  all  the  grass  that'd  be  left  was  just  some  wet 
pieces  stickin'  to  the  outsides  of  his  face.  Well, 
and  you  know  how  he  acted  about  that  maple  branch. 
We  can't  trust  him  with  branches." 

Sam  jumped  up. 

"7  know!"  he  cried.  "There's  lots  of  leaves  left 
on  the  branches.  We  can  give  them  to  him." 

"I  just  said " 

"I  don't  mean  the  branches,"  Sam  explained. 
"We'll  leave  the  branches  on  the  trees,  but  just  pull 
the  leaves  off  the  branches  and  put  'em  in  the  bucket 
and  feed  'em  to  him  out  the  bucket." 


128  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Penrod  thought  this  plan  worth  trying,  and  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  two  boys  were  busy 
with  the  lower  branches  of  various  trees  in  the  yard. 
Thus  they  managed  to  supply  Whitey  with  a  fair 
quantity  of  wet  leaves,  which  he  ate  in  a  perfunctory 
way,  displaying  little  of  his  earlier  enthusiasm.  And 
the  work  of  his  purveyors  might  have  been  more 
tedious  if  it  had  been  less  damp,  for  a  boy  is  seldom 
bored  by  anything  that  involves  his  staying-out  in 
the  rain  without  protection.  The  drizzle  had  thick- 
ened; the  leaves  were  heavy  with  water,  and  at  every 
jerk  the  branches  sent  fat  drops  over  the  two  collect- 
ors. They  attained  a  noteworthy  state  of  sogginess. 

Finally,  they  were  brought  to  the  attention  of  the 
authorities  indoors,  and  Delia  appeared  upon  the 
back  porch. 

"Musther  Penrod/'  she  called,  "y'r  mamma  says 
ye'll  c'm  in  the  house  this  minute  an'  change  y'r 
shoes  an'  stockin's  an'  everythun'  else  ye  got  on! 
D'ye  hear  me?" 

Penrod,  taken  by  surprise  and  unpleasantly 
alarmed,  darted  away  from  the  tree  he  was  depleting 
and  ran  for  the  stable. 

"You  tell  her  I'm  dry  as  toast!"  he  shouted  over 
his  shoulder. 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  129 

Delia  withdrew,  wearing  the  air  of  a  person  gra- 
tuitously insulted;  and  a  moment  later  she  issued 
from  the  kitchen,  carrying  an  umbrella.  She  opened 
it  and  walked  resolutely  to  the  stable. 

"She  says  I'm  to  bring  ye  in  the  house,"  said 
Delia,  "an'  I'm  goin'  to  bring  ye!" 

Sam  had  joined  Penrod  in  the  carriage-house,  and, 
with  the  beginnings  of  an  unnamed  terror,  the  two 
beheld  this  grim  advance.  But  they  did  not  stay 
for  its  culmination.  Without  a  word  to  each  other 
they  hurriedly  tiptoed  up  the  stairs  to  the  gloomy 
loft,  and  there  they  paused,  listening. 

They  heard  Delia's  steps  upon  the  carriage-house 
floor. 

"Ah,  there's  plenty  places  t'hide  in,"  they  heard 
her  say;  "but  I'll  show  ye!  She  tole  me  to  bring 
ye,  and  I'm " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  peculiar  sound — loud, 
chilling,  dismal,  and  unmistakably  not  of  human 
origin.  The  boys  knew  it  for  Whitey's  cough,  but 
Delia  had  not  their  experience.  A  smothered  shriek 
reached  their  ears;  there  was  a  scurrying  noise,  and 
then,  with  horror,  they  heard  Delia's  footsteps  in 
the  passageway  that  ran  by  Whitey's  manger. 
Immediately  there  came  a  louder  shriek,  and 


130  PENROD  AND  SAM 

even  in  the  anguish  of  knowing  their  secret  dis- 
covered, they  were  shocked  to  hear  distinctly  the 
words,  "O  Lard  in  hi  win!"  in  the  well-known  voice 
of  Delia.  She  shrieked  again,  and  they  heard  the 
rush  of  her  footfalls  across  the  carriage-house  floor. 
Wild  words  came  from  the  outer  air,  and  the  kitchen 
door  slammed  violently.  It  was  all  over.  She 
had  gone  to  "tell." 

Penrod  and  Sam  plunged  down  the  stairs  and 
out  of  the  stable.  They  climbed  the  back  fence  and 
fled  up  the  alley.  They  turned  into  Sam's  yard, 
and,  without  consultation,  headed  for  the  cellar 
doors,  nor  paused  till  they  found  themselves  in  the 
farthest,  darkest,  and  gloomiest  recess  of  the  cellar. 
There,  perspiring,  stricken  with  fear,  they  sank  down 
upon  the  earthen  floor,  with  their  moist  backs  against 
the  stone  wall. 

Thus  with  boys.  The  vague  apprehensions  that 
had  been  creeping  upon  Penrod  and  Sam  all  after- 
noon had  become  monstrous;  the  unknown  was 
before  them.  How  great  their  crime  would  turn 
out  to  be  (now  that  it  was  in  the  hands  of  grown 
people),  they  did  not  know,  but,  since  it  concerned 
a  horse,  it  would  undoubtedly  be  considered  of 
terrible  dimensions. 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  131 

Their  plans  for  a  reward,  and  all  the  things  that 
had  seemed  both  innocent  and  practical  in  the  morn- 
nig,  now  staggered  their  minds  as  manifestations  of 
criminal  folly.  A  new  and  terrible  light  seemed  to 
play  upon  the  day's  exploits;  they  had  chased  a  horse 
belonging  to  strangers,  and  it  would  be  said  that 
they  deliberately  drove  him  into  the  stable  and 
there  concealed  him.  They  had,  in  truth,  virtually 
stolen  him,  and  they  had  stolen  food  for  him.  The 
waning  light  through  the  small  window  above  them 
warned  Penrod  that  his  inroads  upon  the  vegetables 
in  his  own  cellar  must  soon  be  discovered.  Delia, 
that  Nemesis,  would  seek  them  in  order  to  prepare 
them  for  dinner,  and  she  would  find  them  not.  But 
she  would  recall  his  excursion  to  the  cellar,  for  she 
had  seen  him  when  he  came  up;  and  also  the  truth 
would  be  known  concerning  the  loaf  of  bread.  Al- 
together, Penrod  felt  that  his  case  was  worse  than 
Sam's — until  Sam  offered  a  suggestion  which  roused 
such  horrible  possibilities  concerning  the  principal 
item  of  their  offense  that  all  thought  of  the  smaller 
indictments  disappeared. 

"Listen,  Penrod,"  Sam  quavered:  "What— what 
if  that — what  if  that  ole  horse  maybe  b'longed  to  a 
— policeman!"  Sam's  imagination  was  not  of  the 


132  PENROD  AND  SAM 

comforting  kind.     "  What'd  they — do  to  us,  Penrod, 
if  it  turned  out  he  was  some  policeman's  horse?" 

Penrod  was  able  only  to  shake  his  head.  He 
did  not  reply  in  words,  but  both  boys  thenceforth 
considered  it  almost  inevitable  that  Whitey  had 
belonged  to  a  policeman,  and  in  their  sense  of  so 
ultimate  a  disaster,  they  ceased  for  a  time  to  brood 
upon  what  their  parents  would  probably  do  to  them. 
The  penalty  for  stealing  a  policeman's  horse  would 
be  only  a  step  short  of  capital,  they  were  sure. 
They  would  not  be  hanged;  but  vague,  looming 
sketches  of  something  called  the  penitentiary  began 
to  flicker  before  them. 

It  grew  darker  in  the  cellar,  so  that  finally  they 
could  not  see  each  other. 

"I  guess  they're  huntin'  for  us  by  now,"  Sam  said 
huskily.  "I  don't — I  don't  like  it  much  down  here, 
Penrod." 

Penrod's  hoarse  whisper  came  from  the  profound 
gloom: 

"Well,  who  ever  said  you  did?" 

"Well "  Sam  paused;  then  he  said  plaintively, 

"I  wish  we'd  never  seen  that  dern  ole  horse." 

"It  was  every  bit  his  fault,"  said  Penrod.  "We 
didn't  do  anything.  If  he  hadn't  come  stickin'  his 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  133 

ole  head  in  our  stable,  it'd  never  happened  at  all. 
Olefool!"  He  rose.  "I'm  goin' to  get  out  of  here; 
I  guess  I've  stood  about  enough  for  one  day." 

"Where — where  you  goin',  Penrod?  You  aren't 
goin'  home,  are  you?" 

"No;  I'm  not!  What  you  take  me  for?  You 
think  I'm  crazy?" 

"Well,  where  can  we  go?" 

How  far  Penrod's  desperation  actually  would  have 
led  him  is  doubtful,  but  he  made  this  statement: 

"I  don't  know  where  you9 re  goin',  but  I'm  goin' 
to  walk  straight  out  in  the  country  till  I  come  to  a 
farmhouse  and  say  my  name's  George  and  live  there ! " 

"I'll  do  it,  too,"  Sam  whispered  eagerly.  "I'll 
say  my  name's  Henry." 

"Well,  we  better  get  started,"  said  the  executive 
Penrod.  "We  got  to  get  away  from  here,  anyway." 

But  when  they  came  to  ascend  the  steps  leading 
to  the  "outside  doors,"  they  found  that  those  doors 
had  been  closed  and  locked  for  the  night. 

"It's  no  use,"  Sam  lamented,  "and  we  can't  bust 
'em,  cause  I  tried  to,  once  before.  Fanny  always 
locks  'em  about  five  o'clock — I  forgot.  We  got  to 
go  up  the  stairway  and  try  to  sneak  out  through  the 
house." 


134  PENROD  AND  SAM 

They  tiptoed  back,  and  up  the  inner  stairs.  They 
paused  at  the  top,  then  breathlessly  stepped  out  into 
a  hall  which  was  entirely  dark.  Sam  touched  Pen- 
rod's  sleeve  in  warning,  and  bent  to  listen  at  a  door. 

Immediately  that  door  opened,  revealing  the 
bright  library,  where  sat  Penrod's  mother  and  Sam's 
father. 

It  was  Sam's  mother  who  had  opened  the  door. 

"Come  into  the  library,  boys,"  she  said.  "Mrs. 
Schofield  is  just  telling  us  about  it." 

And  as  the  two  comrades  moved  dumbly  into 
the  lighted  room,  Penrod's  mother  rose,  and,  taking 
him  by  the  shoulder,  urged  him  close  to  the  fire. 

"You  stand  there  and  try  to  dry  off  a  little,  while 
I  finish  telling  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams  about  you  and 
Sam,"  she  said.  "You'd  better  make  Sam  keep 
near  the  fire,  too,  Mrs.  Williams,  because  they  both 
got  wringing  wet.  Think  of  their  running  off  just 
when  most  people  would  have  wanted  to  stay! 
Well,  I'll  go  on  with  the  story,  then.  Delia  told 
me  all  about  it,  and  what  the  cook  next  door  said 
she'd  seen,  how  they'd  been  trying  to  pull  grass  and 
leaves  for  the  poor  old  thing  all  day — and  all  about 
the  apples  they  carried  from  your  cellar,  and  getting 
wet  and  working  in  the  rain  as  hard  as  they  could 


REWARD  OF  MERIT  135 

— and  they'd  given  him  a  loaf  of  bread!  Shame  on 
you,  Penrod!"  She  paused  to  laugh,  but  there  was 
a  little  moisture  round  her  eyes,  even  before  she 
laughed.  "And  they'd  fed  him  on  potatoes  and 
lettuce  and  cabbage  and  turnips  out  of  our  cellar! 
And  I  wish  you'd  see  the  sawdust  bed  they  made  for 
him!  Well,  when  I'd  telephoned,  and  the  Humane 
Society  man  got  there,  he  said  it  was  the  most  touch- 
ing thing  he  ever  knew.  It  seems  he  knew  this 
horse,  and  had  been  looking  for  him.  He  said 
ninety-nine  boys  out  of  a  hundred  would  have  chased 
the  poor  old  thing  away,  and  he  was  going  to  see  to 
it  that  this  case  didn't  go  unnoticed,  because  the 
local  branch  of  the  society  gives  little  silver  medals 
for  special  acts  like  this.  And  the  last  thing  he  said 
before  he  led  the  poor  old  horse  away  was  that  he 
was  sure  Penrod  and  Sam  each  would  be  awarded 
one  at  the  meeting  of  the  society  next  Thursday 
night." 

.  .  .  On  the  following  Saturday  morning  a  yodel 
sounded  from  the  sunny  sidewalk  in  front  of  the 
Schofields'  house,  and  Penrod,  issuing  forth,  beheld 
the  familiar  figure  of  Samuel  Williams  in  waiting. 

Upon  Sam's  breast  there  glittered  a  round  bit  of 
silver  suspended  by  a  white  ribbon  from  a  bar  of 


136  PENROD  AND  SAM 

the  same  metal.  Upon  the  breast  of  Penrod  was  a 
decoration  precisely  similar. 

"'Lo,  Penrod,"  said  Sam.  "What  you  goin'  to 
do?" 

"NothinV 

"I  got  mine  on,"  said  Sam. 

"I  have,  too,"  said  Penrod.  "I  wouldn't  take 
a  hunderd  dollars  for  mine." 

"I  wouldn't  take  two  hunderd  for  mine,"  said 
Sam. 

Each  glanced  pleasantly  at  the  other's  medal. 
They  faced  each  other  without  shame.  Neither 
had  the  slightest  sense  of  hypocrisy  either  in  him- 
self or  in  his  comrade.  On  the  contrary! 

Penrod's  eyes  went  from  Sam's  medal  back  to  his 
own;  thence  they  wandered,  with  perhaps  a  little 
disappointment,  to  the  lifeless  street  and  to  the 
empty  yards  and  spectatorless  windows  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Then  he  looked  southward  toward  the 
busy  heart  of  the  town,  where  multitudes  were. 

"Let's  go  down  and  see  what  time  it  is  by  the 
court-house  clock,"  said  Penrod. 


CHAPTER  X 

CONSCIENCE 

MRS.  SCHOFIELD  had  been  away  for  three 
days,  visiting  her  sister  in  Dayton,  Illinois, 
and  on  the  train,  coming  back,  she  fell  into 
a  reverie.  Little  dramas  of  memory  were  reenacted 
in  her  pensive  mind,  and  through  all  of  them  moved 
the  figure  of  Penrod  as  a  principal  figure,  or  star. 
These  little  dramas  did  not  present  Penrod  as  he 
really  was,  much  less  did  they  glow  with  the  uncer- 
tain but  glamorous  light  in  which  Penrod  saw  him- 
self. No;  Mrs.  Schofield  had  indulged  herself  hi 
absence  from  her  family  merely  for  her  own  pleasure, 
and  now  that  she  was  homeward  bound,  her  con- 
science was  asserting  itself;  the  fact  that  she  had 
enjoyed  her  visit  began  to  take  on  the  aspect  of  a 
crime. 

She  had  heard  from  her  family  only  once  during 
the  three  days — the  message,  "All  well  don't  worry 
enjoy  yourself,"  telegraphed  by  Mr.  Schofield,  and 
she  had  followed  his  suggestions  to  a  reasonable 

137 


138  PENROD  AND  SAM 

extent.  Of  course  she  had  worried — but  only  at 
times;  wherefore  she  now  suffered  more  and  more 
poignant  pangs  of  shame  because  she  had  not 
worried  constantly.  Naturally,  the  figure  of  Pen- 
rod,  in  her  railway  reverie,  was  that  of  an  invalid. 

She  recalled  all  the  illnesses  of  his  babyhood  and 
all  those  of  his  boyhood.  "She  reconstructed  scene 
after  scene,  with  the  hero  always  prostrate  and  the 
family  physician  opening  the  black  case  of  phials. 
She  emphatically  renewed  her  recollection  of  ac- 
cidental misfortunes  to  the  body  of  Penrod  Scho- 
field,  omitting  neither  the  considerable  nor  the  in- 
considerable, forgetting  no  strain,  sprain,  cut,  bruise, 
or  dislocation  of  which  she  had  knowledge.  And, 
running  this  film  in  a  sequence  unrelieved  by  brighter 
interludes,  she  produced  a  biographical  picture  of 
such  consistent  and  unremittent  gloom  that  Penrod's 
past  appeared  to  justify  disturbing  thoughts  about 
his  present  and  future. 

She  became  less  and  less  at  ease,  reproaching  her- 
self for  having  gone  away,  wondering  how  she  had 
brought  herself  to  do  such  a  crazy  thing,  for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  the  members  of  her  family  were  almost 
helpless  without  her  guidance;  they  were  apt  to  do 
anything — anything  at  all — or  to  catch  anything. 


CONSCIENCE  139 

The  more  she  thought  about  her  having  left  these 
irresponsible  harebrains  unprotected  and  undirected 
for  three  days,  the  less  she  was  able  to  account  for 
her  action.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  have 
been  a  little  flighty,  but,  shaking  her  head  grimly, 
she  decided  that  flightiness  was  not  a  good  excuse. 
And  she  made  up  her  mind  that  if,  upon  her  arrival, 
she  found  poor  little  neglected  Penrod  and  Margaret 
and  Mr.  Schofield  spared  to  her,  safe  and  sound, 
she  would  make  up  to  them — especially  to  Penrod — 
for  all  her  lack  of  care  in  the  past,  and  for  this  present 
wild  folly  of  spending  three  whole  days  and  nights 
with  her  sister,  far  away  in  Dayton,  Illinois.  Con- 
sequently, when  Mrs.  Schofield  descended  from  that 
train,  she  wore  the  hurried  but  determined  ex- 
pression which  was  always  the  effect  upon  her  of  a 
guilty  conscience. 

"You're  sure  Penrod  is  well  now?"  she  repeated, 
after  Mr.  Schofield  had  seated  himself  at  her  side 
in  a  vehicle  known  to  its  driver  as  a  "deepoe 
hack." 

'"Well  now?'99  he  said.  "He's  been  well  all  the 
time.  I've  told  you  twice  that  he's  all  right." 

"Men  can't  always  see."  She  shook  her  head 
impatiently.  "I  haven't  been  a  bit  sure  he  was  well 


140  PENROD  AND  SAM 

lately.  I  don't  think  he's  been  really  well  for  two  or 
three  months.  How  has  he  seemed  to-day?" 

"In  fair  health,"  Mr.  Schofield  replied  thought- 
fully. "Delia  called  me  up  at  the  office  to  tell  me 
that  one  of  the  telephone  trouble-men  had  come  into 
the  house  to  say  that  if  that  durn  boy  didn't  quit 
climbing  their  poles  they'd  have  him  arrested. 
They  said  he " 

"That's  it!"  Mrs.  Schofield  interrupted  quickly. 
"He's  nervous.  It's  some  nervous  trouble  makes 
him  act  like  that.  He's  not  like  himself  at  all." 

"Sometimes,"  said  Mr.  Schofield,  "I  wish  he 
weren't." 

"When  he's  himself,"  Mrs.  Schofield  went  on 
anxiously,  "he's  very  quiet  and  good;  he  doesn't  go 
climbing  telegraph-poles  and  reckless  things  like 
that.  A|id  I  noticed  before  I  went  away  that  he 
was  growling  twitchy,  and  seemed  to  be  getting  the 
habit  of  making  unpleasant  little  noises  in  his  throat." 

"Don't  fret  about  that,"  said  her  husband.  "He 
was  trying  to  learn  Sam  Williams's  imitation  of  a 
bullfrog's  croak.  I  used  to  do  that  myself  when  I 
was  a  boy.  Gl-glump,  gallump!  No;  I  can't  do 
it  now.  But  nearly  all  boys  feel  obliged  to  learn  it." 

"You're  entirely  mistaken,  Henry,"  she  returned 


CONSCIENCE  141 

a  little  sharply.  "That  isn't  the  way  he  goes  in  his 
throat.  Penrod  is  getting  to  be  a  very  nervous  boy, 
and  he  makes  noises  because  he  can't  help  it.  He 
works  part  of  his  face,  too,  sometimes,  so  much  that 
I've  been  afraid  it  would  interfere  with  his  looks." 

"Interfere  with  his  what?"  For  the  moment, 
Mr.  Schofield  seemed  to  be  dazed. 

"When  he's  himself,"  she  returned  crisply,  "he's 
quite  a  handsome  boy." 

"He  is?" 

"Handsomer  than  the  average,  anyhow,"  said  Mrs. 
Schofield  firmly.  "No  wonder  you  don't  see  it — 
when  we've  let  his  system  get  all  run  down  like  this ! " 

"Good  heavens!"  murmured  the  mystified  Mr. 
Schofield.  "Penrod's  system  hasn't  been  running 
down;  its  just  the  same  as  it  always  was.  He's 
absolutely  all  right." 

"Indeed  he  is  not!"  she  said  severely.  "We've 
got  to  take  better  care  of  him  than  we  have  been." 

"Why,  how  could — -" 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  she  interrupted. 
"Penrod  is  anything  but  a  strong  boy,  and  it's  all  our 
fault.  We  haven't  been  watchful  enough  of  his 
health;  that's  what's  the  matter  with  him  and  makes 
him  so  nervous." 


142  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Thus  she  continued,  and,  as  she  talked  on,  Mr. 
Schofield  began,  by  imperceptible  processes,  to 
adopt  her  views.  As  for  Mrs.  Schofield  herself, 
these  views  became  substantial  by  becoming  vocal. 
This  is  to  say,  with  all  deference,  that,  as  soon  as 
she  heard  herself  stating  them  she  was  convinced  that 
they  accurately  represented  facts.  And  the  deter- 
mined look  in  her  eyes  deepened  when  the  "deepoe 
hack"  turned  the  familiar  corner  and  she  saw  Penrod 
running  to  the  gate,  followed  by  his  little  old  dog,  Duke. 

Never  had  Penrod  been  so  glad  to  greet  his  mother. 
Never  was  he  more  boisterous  in  the  expression  of 
happiness  of  that  kind.  And  the  tokens  of  his 
appetite  at  dinner,  a  little  later,  were  extraordinary. 
Mr.  Schofield  began  to  feel  reassured  in  spite  of 
himself,  but  Mrs.  Schofield  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  you  see?  It's  abnormal!"  she  said,  in  a 
low,  decisive  voice. 

That  night  Penrod  awoke  from  a  sweet,  con- 
scienceless slumber — or,  rather,  he  was  awakened. 
A  wrappered  form  lurked  over  him  in  the  gloom. 

"Uff — ow "  he  muttered,  and  turned  his  face 

from  the  dim  light  that  shone  through  the  doorway. 
He  sighed  and  sought  the  depths  of  sleep  again. 


CONSCIENCE  143 

"Penrod,"  said  his  mother  softly,  and,  while  he 
resisted  feebly,  she  turned  him  over  to  face  her. 

"Gawn  lea'  me  'lone,"  he  muttered. 

Then,  as  a  little  sphere  touched  his  lips,  he  jerked 
his  head  away,  startled. 

"Whassat?" 

Mrs.  Schofield  replied  in  tones  honey  sweet  and 
coaxing : 

"It's  just  a  nice  little  pill,  Penrod." 

"Doe  waw  'ny!"  he  protested,  keeping  his  eyes 
shut,  clinging  to  the  sleep  from  which  he  was  being 
riven. 

"  Be  a  good  boy,  Penrod,"  she  whispered.  "  Here's 
a  glass  of  nice  cool  water  to  swallow  it  down  with. 
Come,  dear;  it's  going  to  do  you  lots  of  good." 

And  again  the  little  pill  was  placed  suggestively 
against  his  lips;  but  his  head  jerked  backward,  and 
his  hand  struck  out  in  blind,  instinctive  self-defense. 

"I'll  bust  that  ole  pill,"  he  muttered,  still  with  closed 
eyes.  "  Lemme  get  my  han's  on  it  an'  I  will ! " 

"Penrod!" 

"Please  go  on  away,  mamma!" 

"I  will,  just  as  soon  as  you  take  this  little  pill." 

"I  did." 

"No,  dear." 


144  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  did,"  Penrod  insisted  plaintively.  "You  made 
me  take  it  just  before  I  went  to  bed." 

"Oh,  yes;  that  one.  But,  dearie,"  Mrs.  Schofield 
explained,  "I  got  to  thinking  about  it  after  I  went  to 
bed,  and  I  decided  you'd  better  have  another." 

"I  don't  want  another." 

"Yes,  dearie." 

"Please  go  'way  and  let  me  sleep." 

"Not  till  you've  taken  the  little  pill,  dear." 

"Oh,  golly  I"  Groaning,  he  propped  himself 
upon  an  elbow  and  allowed  the  pill  to  pass  between 
his  lips.  (He  would  have  allowed  anything  whatever 
to  pass  between  them,  if  that  passing  permitted  his 
return  to  slumber.)  Then,  detaining  the  pill  in  his 
mouth,  he  swallowed  half  a  glass  of  water,  and  again 
was  recumbent. 

"G'-night,  mamma." 

"  Good-night,  dearie.     Sleep  well." 

"Yes'm." 

After  her  departure  Penrod  drowsily  enjoyed  the 
sugar  coating  of  the  pill,  but  this  was  indeed  a  brief 
pleasure.  A  bitterness  that  was  like  a  pang  suddenly 
made  itself  known  to  his  sense  of  taste,  and  he 
realized  that  he  had  dallied  too  confidingly  with  the 
product  of  a  manufacturing  chemist  who  should 


CONSCIENCE  145 

have  been  indicted  for  criminal  economy.  The 
medicinal  portion  of  the  little  pill  struck  the  wall 
with  a  faint  tap,  then  dropped  noiselessly  to  the 
floor,  and,  after  a  time,  Penrod  slept. 

Some  hours  later  he  began  to  dream;  he  dreamed 
that  bis  feet  and  legs  were  becoming  uncomfortable 
as  a  result  of  Sam  Williams'  activities  with  a  red-hot 
poker. 

"You  quit  that!"  he  said  aloud,  and  awoke  in- 
dignantly. Again  a  dark,  wrappered  figure  hovered 
over  the  bed. 

"It's  only  a  hot- water  bag,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Scho- 
field,  still  labouring  under  the  covers  with  an  ex- 
tended arm.  "You  mustn't  hunch  yourself  up  that 
way,  Penrod.  Put  your  feet  down  on  it." 

And,  as  he  continued  to  hunch  himself,  she  moved 
the  bag  in  the  direction  of  his  withdrawal. 

"  Ow,  murder ! "  he  exclaimed  convulsively.  "  What 
you  try  in' to  do?  Scald  me  to  death?" 

"Penrod " 

"My  goodness,  mamma,"  he  wailed;  "can't  you 
let  me  sleep  a  minute  ?" 

"  It's  very  bad  for  you  to  let  your  feet  get  cold,  dear." 

"They  weren't  cold.  I  don't  want  any  ole  hot- 
wat " 


146  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Penrod,"  she  said  firmly,  "y°u  must  put  your 
feet  against  the  bag.  It  isn't  too  hot." 

" Oh,  isn't  it?  "  he  retorted.  " I  don't  s'pose  you'd 
care  if  I  burned  my  feet  right  off!  Mamma,  won't 
you  please,  pul-leeze  let  me  get  some  sleep?" 

"Not  till  you " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  groan  which  seemed  to 
come  from  an  abyss. 

"All  right,  I'll  do  it!  Let 'em  burn,  then!"  Thus 
spake  the  desperate  Penrod;  and  Mrs.  Schofield  was 
able  to  ascertain  that  one  heel  had  been  placed  in 
light  contact  with  the  bag. 

"No;  both  feet,  Penrod." 

With  a  tragic  shiver  he  obeyed. 

"That's  right,  dear!  Now,  keep  them  that  way. 
It's  good  for  you.  Good-night." 

"G'-night!" 

The  door  closed  softly  behind  her,  and  the  body 
of  Penrod,  from  the  hips  upward,  rose  invisibly 
in  the  complete  darkness  of  the  bedchamber.  A 
moment  later  the  hot-water  bag  reached  the  floor 
in  as  noiseless  a  manner  as  that  previously  adopted 
by  the  remains  of  the  little  pill,  and  Penrod  once 
more  bespread  his  soul  with  poppies.  This  time  he 
slept  until  the  breakfast-bell  rang. 


CONSCIENCE  147 

He  was  late  to  school,  and  at  once  found  himself 
in  difficulties.  Government  demanded  an  explana- 
tion of  the  tardiness,  but  Penrod  made  no  reply  of 
any  kind.  Taciturnity  is  seldom  more  strikingly 
out  of  place  than  under  such  circumstances,  and 
the  penalties  imposed  took  account  not  only  of 
Penrod's  tardiness  but  of  his  supposititious  defiance 
of  authority  in  declining  to  speak.  The  truth  was 
that  Penrod  did  not  know  why  he  was  tardy,  and, 
with  mind  still  lethargic,  found  it  impossible  to  think 
of  an  excuse  — his  continuing  silence  being  due  merely 
to  the  persistence  of  his  efforts  to  invent  one.  Thus 
were  his  meek  searchings  misinterpreted,  and  the 
unloved  hours  of  improvement  in  science  and  the 
arts  made  odious. 

"They'll  see  /"  he  whispered  sorely  to  himself,  as 
he  bent  low  over  his  desk,  a  little  later.  Some  day 
he  would  "show  'em."  The  picture  in  his  mind 
was  of  a  vast,  vague  assembly  of  people  headed  by 
Miss  Spence  and  the  superior  pupils  who  were  never 
tardy,  and  these  multitudes,  representing  persecu- 
tion and  government  in  general,  were  all  cringing 
before  a  Penrod  Schofield  who  rode  a  grim  black 
horse  up  and  down  their  miserable  ranks,  and  gave 
curt  orders. 


148  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Make  'em  step  back  there!"  he  commanded 
his  myrmidons  savagely.  "Fix  it  so's  your  horses'll 
step  on  their  feet  if  they  don't  do  what  I  say!" 
Then,  from  his  shining  saddle,  he  watched  the  throngs 
slinking  away.  "I  guess  they  know  who  I  am 
now!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   TONIC 


y  "^HESE  broodings  helped  a  little,  but  it  was 
a  severe  morning,  and  on  his  way  home  at 

"*"  noon  he  did  not  recover  heart  enough  to 
practise  the  bullfrog's  croak,  the  craft  of  which  Sam 
Williams  had  lately  mastered  to  inspiring  perfection. 
This  sonorous  accomplishment  Penrod  had  deter- 
mined to  make  his  own.  At  once  guttural  and 
resonant,  impudent  yet  plaintive,  with  a  barbaric 
twang  like  the  plucked  string  of  a  Congo  war-fiddle, 
the  sound  had  fascinated  him.  It  is  made  in  the 
throat  by  processes  utterly  impossible  to  describe  in 
human  words,  and  no  alphabet  as  yet  produced  by 
civilized  man  affords  the  symbols  to  vocalize  it 
to  the  ear  of  imagination.  "Gunk"  is  the  poor 
makeshift  which  must  be  employed  to  indicate  it. 

Penrod  uttered  one  half-hearted  "Gunk"  as  he 
turned  in  at  his  own  gate.  However,  this  stimulated 
him,  and  he  paused  to  practise.  "Gunk  I"  he 
croaked.  "  Gunk — gunk — gunk — gunk  I " 

149 


150  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Mrs.  Schofield  leaned  out  of  an  open  window  up- 
stairs. 

"Don't  do  that,  Penrod,"  she  said  anxiously. 
"Please  don't  do  that." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Penrod,  and  feeling  encouraged 
by  his  progress  in  the  new  art,  he  continued:  "Gurikl 
Gunk — gunk — gunk  I  Gunk — gunk " 

"Please  try  not  to  do  it,"  she  urged  pleadingly. 
"You  can  stop  it  if  you  try.  Won't  you,  dear?" 

But  Penrod  felt  that  he  was  almost  upon  the  point 
of  attaining  a  mastery  equal  to  that  of  Sam  Williams. 
He  had  just  managed  to  do  something  in  his  throat 
that  he  had  never  done  before,  and  he  felt  that 
unless  he  kept  on  doing  it  at  this  time,  his  new-born 
facility  might  evade  him  later.  "  Gunk  !  "  he  croaked. 
"  Gunk — gunk — gunk  I "  And  he  continued  to  croak, 
persevering  monotonously,  his  expression  indicating 
the  depth  of  his  preoccupation. 

His  mother  looked  down  solicitously,  murmured 
in  a  melancholy  undertone,  shook  her  head;  then 
disappeared  from  the  window,  and,  after  a  moment 
or  two,  opened  the  front  door. 

"Come  in,  dear,"  she  said;  "I've  got  something 
for  you." 

Penrod's    look    of    preoccupation    vanished;    he 


THE  TONIC  151 

brightened  and  ceased  to  croak.  His  mother  had 
already  given  him  a  small  leather  pocketbook  with 
a  nickel  in  it,  as  a  souvenir  of  her  journey.  Evi- 
dently she  had  brought  another  gift  as  well,  delaying 
its  presentation  until  now.  "I've  got  something 
for  you!"  These  were  auspicious  words. 

"What  is  it,  mamma?"  he  asked,  and  as  she 
smiled  tenderly  upon  him,  his  gayety  increased. 
"Yay!"  he  shouted.  "Mamma,  is  it  that  reg'lar 
carpenter's  tool  chest  I  told  you  about?" 

"No,"  she  said.  "But  I'll  show  you,  Penrod. 
Come  on,  dear." 

He  followed  her  with  alacrity  to  the  dining-room, 
and  the  bright  anticipation  in  his  eyes  grew  more 
brilliant — until  she  opened  the  door  of  the  china- 
closet,  simultaneously  with  that  action  announcing 
cheerily : 

"It's  something  that's  going  to  do  you  lots  of 
good,  Penrod." 

He  was  instantly  chilled,  for  experience  had  taught 
him  that  when  predictions  of  this  character  were 
made,  nothing  pleasant  need  be  expected.  Two 
seconds  later  his  last  hope  departed  as  she  turned 
from  the  closet  and  he  beheld  in  her  hands  a 
quart  bottle  containing  what  appeared  to  be  a 


152  PENROk  AND  SAM 

section  of  grassy  swamp  immersed  in  a  cloudy 
brown  liquor.  He  stepped  back,  grave  suspicion  in 
his  glance. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked,  in  a  hard  voice. 

Mrs.  Schofield  smiled  upon  him. 

"It's  nothing,"  she  said.  "That  is,  it's  nothing 
you'll  mind  at  all.  It's  just  so  you  won't  be  so 
nervous." 

"I'm  not  nervous." 

"You  don't  think  so,  of  course,  dear,"  she  re- 
turned, and,  as  she  spoke,  she  poured  some  of  the 
brown  liquor  into  a  tablespoon.  "People  often  can't 
tell  when  they're  nervous  themselves;  but  your  papa 
and  I  have  been  getting  a  little  anxious  about  you, 
dear,  and  so  I  got  this  medicine  for  you." 

"  Where* d  you  get  it?"  he  demanded. 

Mrs.  Schofield  set  the  bottle  down  and  moved 
toward  him,  insinuatingly  extending  the  full  table- 
spoon. 

"Here,  dear,"  she  said;  "just  take  this  little 
spoonful,  like  a  goo " 

"I  want  to  know  where  it  came  from,"  he  insisted 
darkly,  again  stepping  backward. 

"Where?"  she  echoed  absently,  watching  to  see 
that  nothing  was  spilled  from  the  spoon  as  she  con- 


THE  TONIC  153 

tinued  to  move  toward  him.  "Why,  I  was  talking 
to  old  Mrs.  Wottaw  at  market  this  morning,  and 
she  said  her  son  Clark  used  to  have  nervous  trouble, 
and  she  told  me  about  this  medicine  and  how  to 
have  it  made  at  the  drug  store.  She  told  me  it 
cured  Clark,  and " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  cured,"  said  Penrod,  adding 
inconsistently,  "I  haven't  got  anything  to  be  cured 
of." 

"Now,  dear,"  Mrs.  Schofield  began,  "you  don't 
want  your  papa  and  me  to  keep  on  worrying 
about " 

"I  don't  care  whether  you  worry  or  not,"  the  heart- 
less boy  interrupted.  "I  don't  want  to  take  any 
horrable  ole  medicine.  What's  that  grass  and  weeds 
in  the  bottle  for?" 

Mrs.  Schofield  looked  grieved. 

"There  isn't  any  grass  and  there  aren't  any  weeds; 
those  are  healthful  herbs." 

"I  bet  they'll  make  me  sick." 

She  sighed. 

"Penrod,  we're  trying  to  make  you  well." 

"But  I  am  well,  I  tell  you!" 

"No,  dear;  your  papa's  been  very  much  troubled 
about  you.  Come,  Penrod;  swallow  this  down  and 


154  PENROD  AND  SAM 

don't  make  such  a  fuss  about  it.     It's  just  for  your 
own  good."  . 

And  she  advanced  upon  him  again,  the  spoon 
extended  toward  his  lips.  It  almost  touched 
them  for  he  had  retreated  until  his  back  was 
against  the  wall-paper.  He  could  go  no  farther, 
but  he  evinced  his  unshaken  repugnance  by  averting 
his  face. 

"What's  it  taste  like?"  he  demanded. 

"It's  not  unpleasant  at  all,"  she  answered,  poking 
the  spoon  at  his  mouth.  "Mrs.  Wottaw  said  Clark 
used  to  be  very  fond  of  it.  'It  doesn't  taste  like 
ordinary  medicine  at  all,'  she  said." 

"How  often  I  got  to  take  it?"  Penrod  mumbled, 
as  the  persistent  spoon  sought  to  enter  his  mouth. 
"Just  this  once?" 

"No,  dear;  three  times  a  day." 

"I  won't  do  it!" 

"Penrod!"  She  spoke  sharply.  "You  swallow 
this  down  and  stop  making  such  a  fuss.  I  can't 
be  all  day.  Hurry!" 

She  inserted  the  spoon  between  his  lips,  so  that 
its  rim  touched  his  clenched  teeth;  he  was  still  re- 
luctant. Moreover,  his  reluctance  was  natural  and 
characteristic,  for  a  boy's  sense  of  taste  is  as  simple 


"Penrod  did  not  reply.     His  expression  had  become  peculiar,  and  the 
peculiarity  of  his  manner  was  equal  to  that  of  his  expression" 


THE  TONIC  155 

and  as  peculiar  as  a  dog's  though,  of  course,  alto- 
gether different  from  a  dog's.  A  boy,  passing 
through  the  experimental  age,  may  eat  and  drink 
astonishing  things,  but  they  must  be  of  his  own 
choosing.  His  palate  is  tender,  and,  in  one 
sense,  might  be  called  fastidious;  nothing  is  more 
sensitive  or  more  easily  shocked.  A  boy  tastes 
things  much  more  than  grown  people  taste  them: 
what  is  merely  unpleasant  to  a  man  is  sheer  broth 
of  hell  to  a  boy.  Therefore,  not  knowing  what 
might  be  encountered,  Penrod  continued  to  be 
reluctant. 

"Penrod,"  his  mother  exclaimed,  losing  patience, 
"I'll  call  your  papa,  to  make  you  take  it,  if  you  don't 
swallow  it  right  down!  Open  your  mouth,  Penrod! 
It  isn't  going  to  taste  bad  at  all.  Open  your  mouth 
— there!" 

The  reluctant  jaw  relaxed  at  last,  and  Mrs.  Scho- 
field  -dexterously  elevated  the  handle  of  the  spoon 
so  that  the  brown  liquor  was  deposited  within  her 
son. 

"  There ! "  she  repeated  triumphantly.  "  It  wasn't 
so  bad  after  all,  was  it?" 

Penrod  did  not  reply.  His  expression  had  be- 
come odd,  and  the  oddity  of  his  manner  was 


156  PENROD  AND  SAM 

equal  to  that  of  his  expression.  Uttering  no 
sound,  he  seemed  to  distend,  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
become  a  pneumatic  boy  under  dangerous  pressure. 
Meanwhile,  his  reddening  eyes,  fixed  awfully  upon 
his  mother,  grew  unbearable. 

"Now,  it  wasn't  such  a  bad  taste,"  said  Mrs. 
Schofield  rather  nervously.  "Don't  go  acting  that 
way,  Penrod!" 

But  Penrod  could  not  help  himself.  In  truth, 
even  a  grown  person  hardened  to  all  manner  of 
flavours,  and  able  to  eat  caviar  or  liquid  Camembert, 
would  have  found  the  cloudy  brown  liquor  viru- 
lently repulsive.  It  contained  in  solution,  with 
other  things,  the  vital  element  of  surprise,  for  it  was 
comparatively  odourless,  and,  unlike  the  chivalrous 
rattlesnake,  gave  no  warning  of  what  it  was  about 
to  do.  In  the  case  of  Penrod,  the  surprise  was  com- 
plete and  its  effect  visibly  shocking. 

The  distention  by  which  he  began  to  express  his 
emotion  appeared  to  be  increasing;  his  slender  throat 
swelled  as  his  cheeks  puffed.  His  shoulders  rose 
toward  his  ears;  he  lifted  his  right  leg  in  an  un- 
natural way  and  held  it  rigidly  in  the  air. 

"Stop  that,  Penrod!"  Mrs.  Schofield  commanded. 
"You  stop  it!" 


THE  TONIC  157 

He  found  his  voice. 

"Uff!  Oooff!"  he  said  thickly,  and  collapsed— 
a  mere,  ordinary,  every-day  convulsion  taking  the 
place  of  his  pneumatic  symptoms.  He  began  to 
writhe,  at  the  same  time  opening  and  closing  his 
mouth  rapidly  and  repeatedly,  waving  his  arms, 
stamping  on  the  floor. 

"Ow!    Ow-ow-ow  /"  he  vociferated. 

Reassured  by  these  normal  demonstrations,  of  a 
type  with  which  she  was  familiar,  Mrs.  Schofield 
resumed  her  fond  smile. 

"You're  all  right,  little  boysie!"  she  said  heartily. 
Then,  picking  up  the  bottle,  she  replenished  the 
tablespoon,  and  told  Penrod  something  she  had 
considered  it  undiplomatic  to  mention  before. 

"Here's  the  other  one,"  she  said  sweetly. 

"Uuf!"  he  sputtered.     "Other— uh— what?" 

"Two  tablespoons  before  each  meal,"  she  informed 
him. 

Instantly  Penrod  made  the  first  of  a  series  of 
passionate  efforts  to  leave  the  room.  His  deter- 
mination was  so  intense,  and  the  manifestations  of 
it  were  so  ruthless,  that  Mrs.  Schofield,  exhausted, 
found  herself  obliged  to  call  for  the  official  head  of 
the  house — in  fact,  she  found  herself  obliged  to 


158  PENROD  AND  SAM 

shriek  for  him;  and  Mr.  Schofield,  upon  hastily 
entering  the  room,  beheld  his  wife  apparently  in  the 
act  of  sawing  his  son  back  and  forth  across  the  sill 
of  an  open  window. 

Penrod  made  a  frantic  effort  to  reach  the  good 
green  earth,  even  after  his  mother's  clutch  upon  his 
ankle  had  been  reenforced  by  his  father's.  Nor  was 
the  lad's  revolt  subdued  when  he  was  deposited  upon 
the  floor  and  the  window  closed.  Indeed,  it  may 
be  said  that  he  actually  never  gave  up,  though  it  is 
a  fact  that  the  second  potion  was  successfully  placed 
inside  him.  But  by  the  time  this  feat  was  finally 
accomplished,  Mr.  Schofield  had  proved  that,  in 
spite  of  middle  age,  he  was  entitled  to  substantial 
claims  and  honours  both  as  athlete  and  orator — his 
oratory  being  founded  less  upon  the  school  of  Web- 
ster and  more  upon  that  of  Jeremiah. 

So  the  thing  was  done,  and  the  double  dose  put 
within  the  person  of  Penrod  Schofield.  It  proved 
not  ineffective  there,  and  presently,  as  its  new  owner 
sat  morosely  at  table,  he  began  to  feel  slightly  dizzy 
and  his  eyes  refused  him  perfect  service.  This  was 
natural,  because  two  tablespoons  of  the  cloudy 
brown  liquor  contained  about  the  amount  of  alcohol 
to  be  found  in  an  ordinary  cocktail.  Now  a  boy 


THE  TONIC  159 

does  not  enjoy  the  effects  of  intoxication;  enjoyment 
of  that  kind  is  obtained  only  by  studious  applica- 
tion. Therefore,  Penrod  spoke  of  his  symptoms  com- 
plainingly,  and  even  showed  himself  so  vindictive  as 
to  attribute  them  to  the  new  medicine. 

His  mother  made  no  reply.  Instead,  she  nodded 
her  head  as  if  some  inner  conviction  had  proven  well 
founded. 

"Bilious,  too,"  she  whispered  to  her  husband. 

That  evening,  during  the  half-hour  preceding 
dinner,  the  dining-room  was  the  scene  of  another 
struggle,  only  a  little  less  desperate  than  that  which 
had  been  the  prelude  to  lunch,  and  again  an  appeal 
to  the  head  of  the  house  was  found  necessary. 
Muscular  activity  and  a  liberal  imitation  of  the 
jeremiads  once  more  subjugated  the  rebel — and  the 
same  rebellion  and  its  suppression  in  a  like  manner 
took  place  the  following  morning  before  breakfast. 
But  this  was  Saturday,  and,  without  warning  or 
apparent  reason,  a  remarkable  change  came  about  at 
noon.  However,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Schofield  were  used 
to  inexplicable  changes  in  Penrod,  and  they  missed 
its  significance. 

When  Mrs.  Schofield,  with  dread  in  her  heart, 
called  Penrcd  into  the  house  "to  take  his  medicine" 


160  PENROD  AND  SAM 

before  lunch,  lie  came  briskly,  and  took  it  like  a 
lamb! 

"  Why,  Penrod,  that's  splendid ! "  she  cried.  "You 
see  it  isn't  bad,  at  all." 

"No'm,"  he  said  meekly.  "Not  when  you  get 
used  to  it." 

"And  aren't  you  ashamed,  making  all  that  fuss?" 
she  went  on  happily. 

"Yes'm,  I  guess  so." 

"And  don't  you  feel  better?  Don't  you  see  how 
much  good  it's  doing  you  already?" 

"Yes'm,  I  guess  so." 


Upon  a  holiday  morning,  several  weeks  later, 
Penrod  and  Sam  Williams  revived  a  pastime  which 
they  called  "drug  store,"  setting  up  display  coun- 
ters, selling  chemical,  cosmetic,  and  other  com- 
pounds to  imaginary  customers,  filling  prescriptions, 
and  variously  conducting  themselves  in  a  pharma- 
ceutical manner.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  affairs 
when  Penrod  interrupted  his  partner  and  himself 
with  a  cry  of  recollection. 

"7  know!"  he  shouted.  "I  got  some  mighty 
good  ole  stuff  we  want.  You  wait!"  And,  dashing 
to  the  house,  he  disappeared. 


THE  TONIC  161 

Returning  immediately,  Penrod  placed  upon  the 
principal  counter  of  the  "drug  store"  a  large 
bottle.  It  was  a  quart  bottle,  in  fact;  and  it  con- 
tained what  appeared  to  be  a  section  of  grassy  swamp 
immersed  in  a  cloudy  brown  liquor. 

"There!"  Penrod  exclaimed.  "How's  that  for 
some  good  ole  medicine?" 

"It's  good  ole  stuff,"  Sam  said  approvingly. 
"  Where'd  you  get  it?  Whose  is  it,  Penrod?  " 

"It  was  mine,"  said  Penrod.  "Up  to  about 
serreval  days  ago,  it  was.  They  quit  givin'  it  to 
me.  I  had  to  take  two  bottles  and  a  half  of 
it." 

"What  did  you  haf  to  take  it  for?" 

"I  got  nervous,  or  sumpthing,"  said  Penrod. 

"You  all  well  again  now?" 

"I  guess  so.  Uncle  Passloe  and  cousin  Ronald 
came  to  visit,  and  I  expect  she  was  too  busy  to  think 
about  it,  or  sumpthing.  Anyway,  she  quit  makin* 
me  take  it,  and  said  I  was  lots  better.  She's  forgot 
all  about  it  by  this  time." 

Sam  was  looking  at  the  bottle  with  great  interest. 

"What's  all  that  stuff  in  there,  Penrod?"  he  asked. 
"What's  all  that  stuff  in  there  looks  like  grass?" 

"It  is  grass,"  said  Penrod. 


162  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"How'd  it  get  there?" 

"I  stuck  it  in  there,"  the  candid  boy  replied. 
"First  they  had  some  horrable  ole  stuff  in  there  like 
to  killed  me.  But  after  they  got  three  doses  down 
me,  I  took  the  bottle  out  in  the  yard  and  cleaned 
her  all  out  and  pulled  a  lot  o'  good  ole  grass  and 
stuffed  her  pretty  full  and  poured  in  a  lot  of  good  ole 
hydrant  water  on  top  of  it.  Then,  when  they  got 
the  next  bottle,  I  did  the  same  way,  and " 

"It  don't  look  like  water,"  Sam  objected. 

Penrod  laughed  a  superior  laugh. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  he  said,  with  the  slight 
swagger  of  young  and  conscious  genius.  "  Of  course, 
I  had  to  slip  in  and  shake  her  up  sometimes,  so's 
they  wouldn't  notice." 

"But  what  did  you  put  in  it  to  make  it  look 
like  that?" 

Penrod,  upon  the  point  of  replying,  happened  to 
glance  toward  the  house.  His  gaze,  lifting,  rested 
for  a  moment  upon  a  window.  The  head  of  Mrs. 
Schofield  was  framed  in  that  window.  She  nodded 
gayly  to  her  son.  She  could  see  him  plainly,  and 
she  thought  that  he  seemed  perfectly  healthy,  and 
as  happy  as  a  boy  could  be.  She  was  right. 

"What  did  you  put  in  it?"  Sam  insisted. 


THE  TONIC  163 

And  probably  it  was  just  as  well  that,  though  Mrs. 
Schofield  could  see  her  son,  the  distance  was  too 
great  for  her  to  hear  him. 

"Oh,  nothin ',"  Penrod  replied.  "Nothin'  but  a 
little  good  ole  mud." 


CHAPTER  XII 

GIPSY 

ON  A  fair  Saturday  afternoon  in  Novem- 
ber Penrod's  little  old  dog  Duke  returned 
to  the  ways  of  his  youth  and  had  trouble 
with  a  strange  cat  on  the  back  porch.  This  indis- 
cretion, so  uncharacteristic,  was  due  to  the  agitation 
of  a  surprised  moment,  for  Duke's  experience  had 
inclined  him  to  a  peaceful  pessimism,  and  he  had 
no  ambition  for  hazardous  undertakings  of  any  sort. 
He  was  given  to  musing  but  not  to  avoidable  action, 
and  he  seemed  habitually  to  hope  for  something 
which  he  was  pretty  sure  would  not  happen.  Even 
in  his  sleep,  this  gave  him  an  air  of  wistfulness. 

Thus,  being  asleep  in  a  nook  behind  the  metal 
refuse-can,  when  the  strange  cat  ventured  to  ascend 
the  steps  of  the  porch,  his  appearance  was  so  unwar- 
like  that  the  cat  felt  encouraged  to  extend  its  field 
of  reconnaissance — for  the  cook  had  been  careless, 
and  the  backbone  of  a  three-pound  whitefish  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  refuse-can. 

164 


GIPSY  165 

This  cat  was,  for  a  cat,  needlessly  tall,  power- 
ful, independent,  and  masculine.  Once,  long  ago, 
he  had  been  a  roly-poly  pepper-and-salt  kitten; 
he  had  a  home  in  those  days,  and  a  name,  "Gipsy," 
which  he  abundantly  justified.  He  was  precocious 
in  dissipation.  Long  before  his  adolescence,  his 
lack  of  domesticity  was  ominous,  and  he  had  formed 
bad  companionships.  Meanwhile,  he  grew  so  rangy, 
and  developed  such  length  and  power  of  leg  and 
such  traits  of  character,  that  the  father  of  the  little 
girl  who  owned  him  was  almost  convincing  when 
he  declared  that  the  young  cat  was  half  broncho 
and  half  Malay  pirate — though,  in  the  light  of 
Gipsy's  later  career,  this  seems  bitterly  unfair  to 
even  the  lowest  orders  of  bronchos  and  Malay 
pirates. 

No;  Gipsy  was  not  the  pet  for  a  little  girl.  The 
rosy  hearthstone  and  sheltered  rug  were  too  circum- 
spect for  him.  Surrounded  by  the -comforts  of  mid- 
dle-class respectability,  and  profoundly  oppressed, 
even  in  his  youth,  by  the  Puritan  ideals  of  the  house- 
hold, he  sometimes  experienced  a  sense  of  suffocation. 
He  wanted  free  air  and  he  wanted  free  life;  he  wanted 
the  lights,  the  lights,  and  the  music.  He  abandoned 
the  bourgeoisie  irrevocably.  He  went  forth  in  a 


166  PENROD  AND  SAM 

May  twilight,  carrying  the  evening  beefsteak  with 
him,  and  joined  the  underworld. 

His  extraordinary  size,  his  daring,  and  his  utter 
lack  of  sympathy  soon  made  him  the  leader — and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  terror — of  all  the  loose-lived 
cats  in  a  wide  neighbourhood.  He  contracted  no 
friendships  and  had  no  confidants.  He  seldom  slept 
in  the  same  place  twice  in  succession,  and  though 
he  was  wanted  by  the  police,  he  was  not  found.  In 
appearance  he  did  not  lack  distinction  of  an  ominous 
sort;  the  slow,  rhythmic,  perfectly  controlled  mech- 
anism of  his  tail,  as  he  impressively  walked  abroad, 
was  incomparably  sinister.  This  stately  and  dan- 
gerous walk  of  his,  his  long,  vibrant  whiskers,  his 
scars,  his  yellow  eye,  so  ice-cold,  so  fire-hot,  haughty 
as  the  eye  of  Satan,  gave  him  the  deadly  air  of  a 
mousquetaire  duellist.  His  soul  was  in  that  walk 
and  in  that  eye;  it  could  be  read — the  soul  of  a  bravo 
of  fortune,  living  on  his  wits  and  his  valour,  asking 
no  favours  and  granting  no  quarter.  Intolerant, 
proud,  sullen,  yet  watchful  and  constantly  planning 
—purely  a  militarist,  believing  in  slaughter  as  in  a  re- 
ligion, and  confident  that  art,  science,  poetry,  and  the 
good  of  the  world  were  happily  advanced  thereby- 
Gipsy  had  become,  though  technically  not  a  wildcat, 


GIPSY  167 

undoubtedly  the  most  untamed  cat  at  large  in  the 
civilized  world.  Such,  in  brief,  was  the  terrifying 
creature  which  now  elongated  its  neck,  and,  over  the 
top  step  of  the  porch,  bent  a  calculating  scrutiny  upon 
the  wistful  and  slumberous  Duke. 

The  scrutiny  was  searching  but  not  prolonged. 
Gipsy  muttered  contemptuously  to  himself,  "Oh, 
sheol;  I'm  not  afraid  o'  that !"  And  he  approached 
the  fishbone,  his  padded  feet  making  no  noise  upon 
the  boards.  It  was  a  desirable  fishbone,  large, 
with  a  considerable  portion  of  the  fish's  tail  still 
attached  to  it. 

It  was  about  a  foot  from  Duke's  nose,  and  the 
little  dog's  dreams  began  to  be  troubled  by  his 
olfactory  nerve.  This  faithful  sentinel,  on  guard 
even  while  Duke  slept,  signalled  that  alarums  and 
excursions  by  parties  unknown  were  taking  place, 
and  suggested  that  attention  might  well  be  paid. 
Duke  opened  one  drowsy  eye.  What  that  eye  be- 
held was  monstrous. 

Here  was  a  strange  experience — the  horrific  vision 
in  the  midst  of  things  so  accustomed.  Sunshine 
fell  sweetly  upon  porch  and  backyard;  yonder  was 
the  familiar  stable,  and  from  its  interior  came  the 
busy  hum  of  a  carpenter  shop,  established  that 


168  PENROD  AND  SAM 

morning  by  Duke's  young  master,  in  association 
with  Samuel  Williams  and  Herman.  Here,  close 
by,  were  the  quiet  refuse-can  and  the  wonted 
brooms  and  mops  leaning  against  the  latticed  wall 
at  the  end  of  the  porch,  and  there,  by  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  was  the  stone  slab  of  the  cistern,  with  the  iron 
cover  displaced  and  lying  beside  the  round  open- 
ing, where  the  carpenters  had  left  it,  not  half  an 
hour  ago,  after  lowering  a  stick  of  wood  into  the 
water,  "to  season  it."  All  about  Duke  were  these 
usual  and  reassuring  environs  of  his  daily  life,  and 
yet  it  was  his  fate  to  behold,  right  in  the  midst  of 
them,  and  in  ghastly  juxtaposition  to  his  face,  a 
thing  of  nightmare  and  lunacy. 

Gipsy  had  seized  the  fishbone  by  the  middle. 
Out  from  one  side  of  his  head,  and  mingling  with  his 
whiskers,  projected  the  long,  spiked  spine  of  the  big 
fish;  down  from  the  other  side  of  that  ferocious  head 
dangled  the  fish's  tail,  and  from  above  the  remark- 
able effect  thus  produced  shot  the  intolerable  glare 
of  two  yellow  eyes.  To  the  gaze  of  Duke,  still 
blurred  by  slumber,  this  monstrosity  was  all  of  one 
piece — the  bone  seemed  a  living  part  of  it.  What 
he  saw  was  like  those  interesting  insect-faces  which 
the  magnifying  glass  reveals  to  great  M.  Fabre. 


GIPSY  169 

It  was  impossible  for  Duke  to  maintain  the  philo- 
sophic calm  of  M.  Fabre,  however;  there  was  no 
magnifying  glass  between  him  and  this  spined  and 
spiky  face.  Indeed,  Duke  was  not  in  a  position  to 
think  the  matter  over  quietly.  If  he  had  been  able  to 
do  that,  he  would  have  said  to  himself :  * '  We  have  here 
an  animal  of  most  peculiar  and  unattractive  appear- 
ance, though,  upon  examination,  it  seems  to  be  only 
a  cat  stealing  a  fishbone.  Nevertheless,  as  the  thief 
is  large  beyond  all  my  recollection  of  cats  and  has  an 
unpleasant  stare,  I  will  leave  this  spot  at  once." 

On  the  contrary.  Duke  was  so  electrified  by  his 
horrid  awakening  that  he  completely  lost  his  pres- 
ence of  mind.  In  the  very  instant  of  his  first  eye's 
opening,  the  other  eye  and  his  mouth  behaved  simi- 
larly, the  latter  loosing  upon  the  quiet  air  one  shriek 
of  mental  agony  before  the  little  dog  scrambled  to  his 
feet  and  gave  further  employment  to  his  voice  in  a 
frenzy  of  profanity.  At  the  same  time  the  subterra- 
nean diapason  of  a  demoniac  bass  viol  was  heard;  it 
rose  to  a  wail,  and  rose  and  rose  again  till  it  screamed 
like  a  small  siren.  It  was  Gipsy's  war-cry,  and, 
at  the  sound  of  it,  Duke  became  a  frothing  maniac. 
He  made  a  convulsive  frontal  attack  upon  the  hob- 
goblin— and  the  massacre  began. 


170  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Never  releasing  the  fishbone  for  an  instant,  Gipsy 
laid  back  his  ears  in  a  chilling  way,  beginning  to 
shrink  into  himself  like  a  concertina,  but  rising  amid- 
ships so  high  that  he  appeared  to  be  giving  an  imi- 
tation of  that  peaceful  beast,  the  dromedary.  Such 
was  not  his  purpose,  however,  for,  having  attained 
his  greatest  possible  altitude,  he  partially  sat  down 
and  elevated  his  right  arm  after  the  manner  of  a 
semaphore.  This  semaphore  arm  remained  rigid 
for  a  second,  threatening;  then  it  vibrated  with  in- 
conceivable rapidity,  feinting.  But  it  was  the 
treacherous  left  that  did  the  work.  Seemingly  this 
left  gave  Duke  three  lightning  little  pats  upon  the 
right  ear,  but  the  change  in  his  voice  indicated  that 
these  were  no  love-taps.  He  yelled  "help!"  and 
"bloody  murder!" 

Never  had  such  a  shattering  uproar,  all  vocal, 
broken  out  upon  a  peaceful  afternoon.  Gipsy  pos- 
sessed a  vocabulary  for  cat-swearing  certainly  second 
to  none  out  of  Italy,  and  probably  equal  to  the  best 
there,  while  Duke  remembered  and  uttered  things 
he  had  not  thought  of  for  years. 

The  hum  of  the  carpenter  shop  ceased,  and  Sam 
Williams  appeared  in  the  stable  doorway.  He  stared 
insanely. 


GIPSY  171 

"My  gorry!"  he  shouted.  "Duke's  havin'  a 
fight  with  the  biggest  cat  you  ever  saw  in  your  life! 
C'mon!" 

His  feet  were  already  in  motion  toward  the  battle- 
field, with  Penrod  and  Herman  hurrying  in  his  wake. 
Onward  they  sped,  and  Duke  was  encouraged  by  the 
sight  and  sound  of  these  reinforcements  to  increase 
his  own  outrageous  clamours  and  to  press  home  his 
attack.  But  he  was  ill-advised.  This  time  it  was 
the  right  arm  of  the  semaphore  that  dipped — and 
Duke's  honest  nose  was  but  too  conscious  of  what 
happened  in  consequence. 

A  lump  of  dirt  struck  the  refuse-can  with  violence, 
and  Gipsy  beheld  the  advance  of  overwhelming 
forces.  They  rushed  upon  him  from  two  directions, 
cutting  off  the  steps  of  the  porch.  Undaunted,  the 
formidable  cat  raked  Duke's  nose  again,  somewhat 
more  lingeringly,  and  prepared  to  depart  with  his 
fishbone.  He  had  little  fear  for  himself,  because  he 
was  inclined  to  think  that,  unhampered,  he  could 
whip  anything  on  earth;  still,  things  seemed  to  be 
growing  rather  warm  and  he  saw  nothing  to  prevent 
his  leaving. 

And  though  he  could  laugh  in  the  face  of  so  un- 
equal an  antagonist  as  Duke,  Gipsy  felt  that  he 


172  PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  never  at  his  best  or  able  to  do  himself  full  justice 
unless  he  could  perform  that  feline  operation  in- 
accurately known  as  "spitting."  To  his  notion, 
this  was  an  absolute  essential  to  combat;  but,  as  all 
cats  of  the  slightest  pretensions  to  technique  per- 
fectly understand,  it  can  neither  be  well  done  nor 
produce  the  best  effects  unless  the  mouth  be  opened 
to  its  utmost  capacity  so  as  to  expose  the  beginnings 
of  the  alimentary  canal,  down  which — at  least  that 
is  the  intention  of  the  threat — the  opposing  party 
will  soon  be  passing.  And  Gipsy  could  not  open 
his  mouth  without  relinquishing  his  fishbone. 

Therefore,  on  small  accounts  he  decided  to  leave  the 
field  to  his  enemies  and  to  carry  the  fishbone  elsewhere. 
He  took  two  giant  leaps.  The  first  landed  him  upon 
the  edge  of  the  porch.  There,  without  an  instant's 
pause,  he  gathered  his  fur-sheathed  muscles,  con- 
centrated himself  into  one  big  steel  spring,  and 
launched  himself  superbly  into  space.  He  made  a 
stirring  picture,  however  brief,  as  he  left  the  solid 
porch  behind  him  and  sailed  upward  on  an  ascend- 
ing curve  into  the  sunlit  air.  His  head  was  proudly 
up;  he  was  the  incarnation  of  menacing  power  and 
of  self-confidence.  It  is  possible  that  the  white- 
fish's  spinal  column  and  flopping  tail  had  interfered 


GIPSY  173 

with  his  vision,  and  in  launching  himself  he  may  have 
mistaken  the  dark,  round  opening  of  the  cistern  for 
its  dark,  round  cover.  In  that  case,  it  was  a  leap 
calculated  and  executed  with  precision,  for  as  the 
boys  clamoured  their  pleased  astonishment,  Gipsy 
descended  accurately  into  the  orifice  and  passed 
majestically  from  public  view,  with  the  fishbone 
still  in  his  mouth  and  his  haughty  head  still  high. 
There  was  a  grand  splash! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CONCERNING   TROUSERS 

DUKE,  hastening  to  place  himself  upon  the 
stone  slab,  raged  at  his  enemy  in  safety; 
and  presently  the  indomitable  Gipsy  could 
be  heard  from  the  darkness  below,  turning  on  the  bass 
of  his  siren,  threatening  the  water  which  enveloped 
him,  returning  Duke's  profanity  with  interest,  and 
cursing  the  general  universe. 

"You  hush!"  Penrod  stormed,  rushing  at  Duke. 
"You  go  'way  from  here!  You  Duke  I" 

And  Duke,  after  prostrating  himself,  decided  that 
it  would  be  a  relief  to  obey  and  to  consider  his  re- 
sponsibilities in  this  matter  at  an  end.  He  with- 
drew beyond  a  corner  of  the  house,  thinking  deeply. 

"Why 'n't  you  let  him  bark  at  the  ole  cat?"  Sam 
Williams  inquired,  sympathizing  with  the  oppressed. 
"I  guess  you'd  want  to  bark  if  a  cat  had  been  treatin' 
you  the  way  this  one  did  Duke." 

"Well,  we  got  to  get  this  cat  out  o'  here,  haven't 
we?"  Penrod  demanded  crossly. 

174 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  175 

"What  fer?"  asked  Herman.  "Mighty  mean 
cat!  If  it  was  me,  I  let  'at  ole  cat  drownd." 

"My  goodness!"  Penrod  cried.  "What  you  want 
to  let  it  drown  for?  Anyways,  we  got  to  use  this 
water  in  our  house,  haven't  we?  You  don't  s'pose 
people  like  to  use  water  that's  got  a  cat  drowned 
in  it,  do  you?  It  gets  pumped  up  into  the  tank  in 
the  attic  and  goes  all  over  the  house,  and  I  bet  you 
wouldn't  want  to  see  your  father  and  mother  usin' 
water  a  cat  was  drowned  in.  I  guess  I  don't  want 
my  father  and  moth " 

"Well,  how  can  we  get  it  out?"  Sam  asked,  cutting 
short  this  virtuous  oration.  "It's  swimmin'  around 
down  there,"  he  continued,  peering  into  the  cistern, 
"and  kind  of  roaring,  and  it  must  of  dropped  its 
fishbone,  'cause  it's  spittin'  just  awful.  I  guess 
maybe  it's  mad  'cause  it  fell  in  there." 

"I  don't  know  how  it's  goin'  to  be  got  out,"  said 
Penrod,  "but  I  know  it's  got  to  be  got  out,  and  that's 
all  there  is  to  it!  I'm  not  goin'  to  have  my  father 
and  mother " 

"Well,  once,"  said  Sam,  "once  when  a  kitten  fell 
down  our  cistern,  papa  took  a  pair  of  his  trousers,  and 
he  held  'em  by  the  end  of  one  leg,  and  let  'em  hang 
down  through  the  hole  till  the  end  of  the  other  leg 


176  PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  in  the  water,  and  the  kitten  went  and  clawed 
hold  of  it,  and  he  pulled  it  right  up,  easy  as  anything. 
Well,  that's  the  way  to  do  now,  'cause  if  a  kitten 
could  keep  hold  of  a  pair  of  trousers,  I  guess  this  ole 
cat  could.  It's  the  biggest  cat  /  ever  saw.!  All 
you  got  to  do  is  to  go  and  ast  your  mother  for  a 
pair  of  your  father's  trousers,  and  we'll  have  this 
ole  cat  out  o'  there  in  no  time." 

Penrod  glanced  toward  the  house  perplexedly. 

"She  ain't  home,  and  I'd  be  afraid  to " 

"Well,  take  your  own,  then,"  Sam  suggested 
briskly.  "You  take  'em  off  in  the  stable,  and  wait 
in  there,  and  I  and  Herman'll  get  the  cat  out." 

Penrod  had  no  enthusiasm  for  this  plan,  but  he 
affected  to  consider  it. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  'bout  that,"  he  said,  and  then, 
after  gazing  attentively  into  the  cistern  and  mak- 
ing some  eye  measurements  of  his  knickerbockers, 
he  shook  his  head.  "They'd  be  too  short.  They 
wouldn't  be  near  long  enough ! " 

"Then  neither  would  mine,"  said  Sam  promptly. 

"Herman's  would,"  said  Penrod. 

"  No,  suh ! "  Herman  had  recently  been  promoted 
to  long  trousers,  and  he  expressed  a  strong  disin- 
clination to  fall  in  with  Penrod's  idea.  "  My  mammy 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  177 

sit  up  late  nights  sewin'  on  'ese  britches  fer  me, 
makin'  'em  outen  of  a  pair  o  'pappy 's,  an'  they  mighty 
good  britches.  Ain'  goin'  have  no  wet  cat  climbin' 
up  'em!  No,  suh!" 

Both  boys  began  to  walk  toward  him  argumenta- 
tively,  while  he  moved  slowly  backward,  shaking  his 
head  and  denying  them. 

"I  don't  keer  how  much  you  talk!"  he  said. 
"Mammy  give  my  ole  britches  to  Verman,  an'  'ese 
here  ones  on'y  britches  I  got  now,  an'  I'm  go'  to 
keep  'em  on  me — not  take  'em  off  an'  let  ole  wet 
cat  splosh  all  over  'em.  My  mammy,  she  sewed 
'em  fer  me,  I  reckon — din'  sew  'em  fer  no  cat ! " 

"Oh,  please,  come  on,  Herman!"  Penrod  begged 
pathetically.  "You  don't  want  to  see  the  poor  cat 
drown,  do  you?" 

"Mighty  mean  cat!"  said  Herman.  "Bet'  let 
'at  ole  pussy-cat  'lone  whur  it  is." 

"Why,  it'll  only  take  a  minute,"  Sam  urged. 
"You  just  wait  inside  the  stable  and  you'll  have 
'em  back  on  again  before  you  could  say  'Jack 
Robinson.' ': 

"I  ain'  got  no  use  to  say  no  Jack  Robason,"  said 
Herman.  "An'  I  ain'  go'  to  han'  over  my  britches 
fer  no  cat'" 


178  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Listen  here,  Herman,"  Penrod  began  pleadingly. 
"You  can  watch  us  every  minute  through  the  crack 
in  the  stable  door,  can't  you?  We  ain't  goin'  to 
hurt  'em  any,  are  we?  You  can  see  everything  we 
do,  can't  you?  Look  at  here,  Herman:  you  know 
that  little  saw  you  said  you  wished  it  was  yours,  in 
the  carpenter  shop?  Well,  honest,  if  you'll  just  let 
us  take  your  trousers  till  we  get  this  poor  ole  cat  out 
the  cistern,  I'll  give  you  that  little  saw." 

Herman  was  shaken;  he  yearned  for  the  little  saw. 

"You  gimme  her  to  keep?"  he  asked  cautiously. 
"You  gimme  her  befo'  I  han'  over  my  britches?" 

"You'll  see!"  Penrod  ran  into  the  stable,  came 
back  with  the  little  saw,  and  placed  it  in  Herman's 
hand.  Herman  could  resist  no  longer,  and  two 
minutes  later  he  stood  in  the  necessary  negligee 
within  the  shelter  of  the  stable  door,  and  watched, 
through  the  crack,  the  lowering  of  the  surrendered 
garment  into  the  cistern.  His  gaze  was  anxious, 
and  surely  nothing  could  have  been  more  natural, 
since  the  removal  had  exposed  Herman's  brown 
legs,  and  although  the  weather  was  far  from  inclem- 
ent, November  is  never  quite  the  month  for  people 
to  be  out  of  doors  entirely  without  leg-covering. 
Therefore,  he  marked  with  impatience  that  Sam  and 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  179 

Penrod,  after  lowering  the  trousers  partway  to  the 
water,  had  withdrawn  them  and  fallen  into  an  argu- 
ment. 

"Name  o'  goo'ness!"  Herman  shouted.  "I  ain' 
got  no  time  fer  you  all  do  so  much  talkin'.  If  you 
go'  git  'at  cat  out,  why 'n't  you  git  him?" 

"Wait  just  a  minute,"  Penrod  called,  and  he  came 
running  to  the  stable,  seized  upon  a  large  wooden 
box,  which  the  carpenters  had  fitted  with  a  lid  and 
leather  hinges,  and  returned  with  it  cumbersomely 
to  the  cistern.  "There!"  he  said.  "That'll  do  to 
put  it  in.  It  won't  get  out  o'  that,  I  bet  you ! " 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  want  to  keep  it 
for,"  Sam  said  peevishly,  and,  with  the  suggestion  of 
a  sneer,  he  added,  "I  s'pose  you  think  somebody'll 
pay  about  a  hunderd  dollars  reward,  or  give  us  a 
medal  or  something,  on  account  of  a  cat!" 

"I  don't,  either!"  Penrod  protested  hotly.  "I 
know  what  I'm  doin',  I  tell  you." 

"Well,  what  on  earth " 

"I'll  tell  you  some  day,  won't  I?"  Penrod  cried. 
"I  got  my  reasons  for  wantin'  to  keep  this  cat,  and 
I'm  goin'  to  keep  it.  You  don't  haf  to  ke " 

"Well,  all  right,"  said  Sam  shortly.  "Anyways, 
it'll  be  dead  if  you  don't  hurry." 


180  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"It  won't,  either,"  Penrod  returned,  kneeling  and 
peering  down  upon  the  dark  water.  "Listen  to  him! 
He's  growlin'  and  spittin'  away  like  anything!  It 
takes  a  mighty  fine-blooded  cat  to  be  as  fierce  as 
that.  I  bet  you  most  cats  would  'a'  given  up  and 
drowned  long  ago.  The  water's  awful  cold,  and  I  ex- 
pect he  was  perty  supprised  when  he  lit  in  it." 

"Herman's  makin'  a  fuss  again,"  said  Sam.  "We 
better  get  the  ole  cat  out  o'  there  if  we're  goin' 
to." 

"Well,  this  is  the  way  we'll  do,"  Penrod  said 
authoritatively:  "I'll  let  you  hold  the  trousers,  Sam. 
You  lay  down  and  keep  hold  of  one  leg,  and  let  the 
other  one  hang  down  till  its  end  is  in  the  water. 
Then  you  kind  of  swish  it  around  till  it's  somewheres 
where  the  cat  can  get  hold  of  it,  and  soon  as  he 
does,  you  pull  it  up,  and  be  mighty  careful  so's  it 
don't  fall  off.  Then  I'll  grab  it  and  stick  it  in  the 
box  and  slam  the  lid  down." 

Rather  pleased  to  be  assigned  to  the  trousers, 
Sam  accordingly  extended  himself  at  full  length 
upon  the  slab  and  proceeded  to  carry  out  Penrod's 
instructions.  '  Meanwhile,  Penrod,  peering  from 
above,  inquired  anxiously  for  information .  con- 
cerning this  work  of  rescue. 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  181 

"Can  you  see  it,  Sam?  Why  don't  it  grab  hold? 
What's  it  doin'  now,  Sam?" 

"It's  spittin'  at  Herman's  trousers,"  said  Sam. 
"My  gracious,  but  it's  a  fierce  cat!  If  it's  mad  all 
the  time  like  this,  you  better  not  ever  try  to  pet  it 
much.  Now  it's  kind  o'  sniffin'  at  the  trousers. 
It  acks  to  me  as  if  it  was  goin'  to  ketch  holds.  Yes, 
it's  stuck  one  claw  in  'em Owl" 

Sam  uttered  a  blood-curdling  shriek  and  jerked 
convulsively.  The  next  instant,  streaming  and  incon- 
ceivably gaunt,  the  ravening  Gipsy  appeared  with  a  fi- 
nal bound  upon  Sam's  shoulder.  It  was  not  in  Gipsy's 
character  to  be  drawn  up  peaceably;  he  had  ascended 
the  trousers  and  Sam's  arm  without  assistance  and 
in  his  own  way.  Simultaneously — for  this  was  a 
notable  case  of  everything  happening  at  once — 
there  was  a  muffled,  soggy  splash,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate Herman,  smit  with  prophecy  in  his  seclusion, 
uttered  a  dismal  yell.  Penrod  laid  hands  upon 
Gipsy,  and,  after  a  struggle  suggestive  of  sailors 
landing  a  man-eating  shark,  succeeded  in  getting 
him  into  the  box,  and  sat  upon  the  lid  thereof. 

Sam  had  leaped  to  his  feet,  empty  handed  and 
vociferous. 

"Ow,  ow,  ouch!"  he  shouted,  as  he  rubbed  his 


182  PENROD  AND  SAM 

suffering  arm  and  shoulder.  Then,  exasperated  by 
Herman's  lamentations,  he  called  angrily:  "Oh,  what 
I  care  for  your  ole  britches?  I  guess  if  you'd  'a' 
had  a  cat  climb  up  you,  you'd  'a*  dropped  'em  a 
hunderd  times  over!" 

However,  upon  excruciating  entreaty,  he  con- 
sented to  explore  the  surface  of  the  water  with  a 
clothes-prop,  but  reported  that  the  luckless  trousers 
had  disappeared  in  the  depths,  Herman  having  for- 
gotten to  remove  some  "fishin'  sinkers"  from  his 
pockets  before  making  the  fated  loan. 

Penrod  was  soothing*  a*  lacerated  wrist  in  his 
mouth. 

"That's  a  mighty  fine-blooded  cat,"  he  re- 
marked. "I  expect  it'd  got  away  from  pretty  near 
anybody,  'specially  if  they  didn't  know  much  about 
cats.  Listen  at  him,  in  the  box,  Sam.  I  bet  you 
never  heard  a  cat  growl  as  loud  as  that  in  your  life. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  it  was  part  panther  or  sump- 
thing." 

Sam  began  to  feel  more  interest  and  less  resent- 
ment. . 

"I  tell  you  what  we  can  do,  Penrod,"  he  said: 
"Let's  take  it  in  the  stable  and  make  the  box  into 
a  cage.  We  can  take  off  the  hinges,  and  slide  back 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  183 

the  lid  a  little  at  a  time,  and  nail  some  o'  those  laths 
over  the  front  for  bars." 

"That's  just  exackly  what  I  was  goin'  to  say!" 
Penrod  exclaimed.  "I  already  thought  o'  that, 
Sam.  Yessir,  we'll  make  it  just  like  a  reg'lar  circus- 
cage,  and  our  good  ole  cat  can  look  out  from  between 
the  bars  and  growl.  It'll  come  in  pretty  handy  if 
we  ever  decide  to  have  another  show.  Anyways, 
we'll  have  her  in  there,  good  and  tight,  where  we 
can  watch  she  don't  get  away.  I  got  a  mighty  good 
reason  to  keep  this  cat,  Sam.  You'll  see." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you "  Sam  was  interrupted 

by  a  vehement  appeal  from  the  stable.  "Oh,  we're 
comin'!"  he  shouted.  "We  got  to  bring  our  cat 
in  its  cage,  haven't  we?" 

"Listen, Herman,"  Penrod  called  absent-mindedly. 
"Bring  us  some  bricks,  or  something  awful  heavy 
to  put  on  the  lid  of  our  cage,  so  we  can  carry  it 
without  our  good  ole  cat  pushin'  the  lid  open." 

Herman  explained  with  vehemence  that  it  would 
not  be  right  for  him  to  leave  the  stable  upon  any 
errand  until  just  restorations  had  been  made.  He 
spoke  inimically  of  the  cat,  which  had  been  the 
occasion  of  his  loss,  and  he  earnestly  requested  that 
operations  with  the  clothes-prop  be  resumed  in  the 


184  PENROD  AND  SAM 

cistern.  Sam  and  Penrod  declined,  on  the  ground 
that  this  was  absolutely  proven  to  be  of  no  avail,  and 
Sam  went  to  look  for  bricks. 

These  two  boys  were  not  unfeeling.  They  sym- 
pathized with  Herman,  but  they  regarded  the 
trousers  as  a  loss  about  which  there  was  no  use  in 
making  so  much  outcry.  To  them,  it  was  part  of 
an  episode  which  ought  to  be  closed.  They  had 
done  their  best,  and  Sam  had  not  intended  to  drop 
the  trousers;  that  was  something  which  no  one 
could  have  helped,  and  therefore  no  one  was  to 
be  blamed.  What  they  were  now  interested  in  was 
the  construction  of  a  circus-cage  for  their  good  ole 
cat. 

"It's  goin'  to  be  a  cage  just  exactly  like  circus- 
cages,  Herman,"  Penrod  said,  as  he  and  Sam  set 
the  box  down  on  the  stable  floor.  "You  can  help 
us  nail  the  bars  and " 

"I  ain'  studyin'  'bout  no  bars!"  Herman  inter- 
rupted fiercely.  "What  good  you  reckon  nailin' 
bars  go'  do  me  if  mammy  holler  fer  me?  You  white 
boys  sutn'y  show  me  bad  day!  I  try  treat  people 
nice,  Ven  they  go  th'ow  my  britches  down  cistern!" 

"I  did  not!"  Sam  protested.  "That  ole  cat  just 
kicked  'em  out  o'  my  hand  with  its  hind  feet  while 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  185 

its  front  ones  were  stickin'  in  my  arm.     I  bet  you'd 

of " 

"  Blame  it  on  cat ! "  Herman  sneered.  c  'At's  nice ! 
Jes'  looky  here  minute:  Who'd  I  len'  'em  britches 
to?  D'  I  len'  'em  britches  to  thishere  cat?  No, 
suh;  you  know  I  didn'!  You  know  well's  any  maa 
I  len'  'em  britches  to  you — an'  you  tuck  an'  th'owed 

'em  down  cistern!" 

< 

"Oh,  please  hush  up  about  your  old  britches!" 
Penrod  said  plaintively.  "I  got  to  think  how  we're 
goin'  to  fix  our  cage  up  right,  and  you  make  so  much 
noise  I  can't  get  my  mind  on  it.  Anyways,  didn't  I 
give  you  that  little  saw?" 

"Li'l  saw!"  cried  Herman,  unmollified.  "Yes; 
an'  thishere  li'l  saw  go'  do  me  lot  o'  good  when  I 
got  to  go  home!" 

"Why,  it's  only  across  the  alley  to  your  house, 
Herman!"  said  Sam.  "That  ain't  anything  at  all 
to  step  over  there,  and  you've  got  your  little  saw." 

"Aw  right!  You  jes'  take  off  you'  clo'es  an'  step 
'cross  the  alley,"  said  Herman  bitterly.  "I  give 
you  li'l  saw  to  carry!" 

Penrod  had  begun  to  work  upon  the  cage. 

"Now  listen  here,  Herman,"  he  said:  "If  you'll 
quit  talkin'  so  much,  and  kind  of  get  settled  down  or 


186  PENROD  AND  SAM 

sumpthing,  and  help  us  fix  a  good  cage  for  our 
panther,  well,  when  mamma  comes  home  about  five 
o'clock,  I'll  go  and  tell  her  there's  a  poor  boy  got  his 
britches  burned  up  in  a  fire,  and  how  he's  waitin'  out 
in  the  stable  for  some,  and  I'll  tell  her  I  promised  him. 
Well,  she'll  give  me  a  pair  I  wore  for  summer;  honest 
she  will,  and  you  can  put  'em  on  as  quick  as  anything." 

"There,  Herman,"  said  Sam;  "now  you're  all 
right  again!" 

"Who  all  right?"  Herman  complained.  "I  like 
feel  sump'm'  roun'  my  laigs  befo'  no  five  o'clock!" 

"Well,  you're  sure  to  get  'em  by  then,"  Penrod 
promised.  "It  ain't  winter  yet,  Herman.  Come  on 
and  help  saw  these  laths  for  the  bars,  Herman,  and 
Sam  and  I'll  nail  'em  on  It  ain't  long  till  five 
o'clock,  Herman,  and  then  you'll  just  feel  fine!" 

Herman  was  not  convinced,  but  he  found  himself 
at  a  disadvantage  in  the  argument.  The  question 
at  issue  seemed  a  vital  one  to  him — and  yet  his  two 
opponents  evidently  considered  it  of  minor  import- 
ance. Obviously,  they  felt  that  the  promise  for 
five  o'clock  had  settled  the  whole  matter  conclu- 
sively, but  to  Herman  this  did  not  appear  to  be  the 
fact.  However,  he  helplessly  suffered  himself  to 
be  cajoled  back  into  carpentry,  though  he  was 


CONCERNING  TROUSERS  187 

extremely  ill  at  ease  and  talked  a  great  deal  of  his 
misfortune.  He  shivered  and  grumbled,  and,  by 
his  passionate  urgings,  compelled  Penrod  to  go  into 
the  house  so  many  times  to  see  what  time  it  was  by 
the  kitchen  clock  that  both  his  companions  almost 
lost  patience  with  him. 

"There!"  said  Penrod,  returning  from  performing 
this  errand  for  the  fourth  time.  "It's  twenty 
minutes  after  three,  and  I'm  not  goin'  in  to  look  at 
that  ole  clock  again  if  I  haf  to  die  for  it!  I  never 
heard  anybody  make  such  a  fuss  in  my  life,  and  I'm 
gettin'  tired  of  it.  Must  think  we  want  to  be  all 
night  fixin'  this  cage  for  our  panther!  If  you  ask 
me  to  go  and  see  what  time  it  is  again,  Herman, 
I'm  a-goin'  to  take  back  about  askin'  mamma  at 
five  o'clock,  and  then  where'll  you  be?  " 

"Well,  it  seem  like  mighty  long  aft'noon  to  me," 
Herman  sighed.  "I  jes'  like  to  know  what  time  it 
is  gettin'  to  be  now!" 

"Look  out!'  Penrod  warned  him.  "You  heard 
what  I  was  just  tellin'  you  about  how  I'd  take 
back " 

"Nemmine,"  Herman  said  hurriedly.  "I  wasn' 
astin'  you.  I  jes'  sayin'  sump'm'  kind  o'  to  myse'f 
like." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CAMERA  WORK  IN   THE  JUNGLE 


f^  •  ^HE  completed  cage,  with  Gipsy  behind  the 
bars,  framed  a  spectacle  sufficiently  thrill- 

-**  ing  and  panther-like.  Gipsy  raved,  "spat, " 
struck  virulently  at  taunting  fingers,  turned  on  his 
wailing  siren  for  minutes  at  a  time,  and  he  gave 
his  imitation  of  a  dromedary  almost  continuously. 
These  phenomena  could  be  intensified  in  picturesque- 
ness,  the  boys  discovered,  by  rocking  the  cage  a 
little,  tapping  it  with  a  hammer,  or  raking  the  bars 
with  a  stick.  Altogether,  Gipsy  was  having  a  lively 
afternoon. 

There  came  a  vigorous  rapping  on  the  alley  door 
of  the  stable,  and  Verman  was  admitted. 

"Yay,  Verman!"  cried  Sam  Williams.  "Come 
and  look  at  our  good  ole  panther!" 

Another  curiosity,  however,  claimed  Verman's 
attention.  His  eyes  opened  wide,  and  he  pointed  at 
Herman's  legs. 

"  Wha'  ma'  oo?    Mammy  hay  oo  hip  ap  hoe-woob." 

188 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    189 

"Mammy  tell  me  git  'at  stove-wood?"  Herman 
interpreted  resentfully.  "How'm  I  go'  git  'at  stove- 
wood  when  my  britches  down  bottom  'at  cistern, 
I  like  you  answer  me  please?  You  shet  'at  do* 
behime  you!" 

Verman  complied,  and  again  pointing  to  his 
brother's  legs,  requested  to  be  enlightened. 

"Ain'  I  tole  you  once  they  down  bottom  'at  cis- 
tern? "  Herman  shouted,  much  exasperated.  "  You 
wan'  know  how  come  so,  you  ast  Sam  Williams.  He 
say  thishere  cat  tuck  an'  th'owed  'em  down  there!" 

Sam,  who  was  busy  rocking  the  cage,  remained 
cheerfully  absorbed  in  that  occupation. 

"Come  look  at  our  good  ole  panther,  Verman," 
he  called.  "I'll  get  this  circus-cage  rockin'  right 
good,  an'  then " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Penrod;  "I  got  sump  thing 
I  got  to  think  about.  Quit  rockin'  it!  I  guess  I 
got  a  right  to  think  about  sump  thing  without  havin' 
to  go  deaf,  haven't  I?" 

Having  obtained  the  quiet  so  plaintively  requested, 
he  knit  his  brow  and  gazed  intently  upon  Verman, 
then  upon  Herman,  then  upon  Gipsy.  Evidently 
his  idea  was  fermenting.  He  broke  the  silence  with 
a  shout. 


190  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  know,  Sam!  I  know  what  we'll  do  now! 
I  just  thought  of  it,  and  it's  goin'  to  be  sumpthing 
I  bet  there  aren't  any  other  boys  in  this  town  could 
do,  because  where  would  they  get  any  good  ole 
panther  like  we  got,  and  Herman  and  Verman? 
And  they'd  haf  to  have  a  dog,  too — and  we  got  our 
good  ole  Dukie,  I  guess.  I  bet  we  have  the  greatest 
ole  time  this  afternoon  we  ever  had  in  our  lives ! " 

His  enthusiasm  roused  the  warm  interest  of  Sam 
and  Verman,  though  Herman,  remaining  cold  and 
suspicious,  asked  for  details. 

"An'  I  like  to  hear  if  it's  sump'm',"  he  concluded, 
"what's  go'  git  me  my  britches  back  outen  'at  cis- 
tern!'* 

"Well,  it  ain't  exackly  that,"  said  Penrod.  "It's 
different  from  that.  What  I'm  thinkin'  about, 
well,  for  us  to  have  it  the  way  it  ought  to  be,  so's 
you  and  Verman  would  look  like  natives — well, 
Verman  ought  to  take  off  his  britches,  too." 

"Mo!"  said  Verman,  shaking  his  head  violently. 
"Mo!" 

"Well,  wait  a  minute,  can't  you?"  Sam  Williams 
said.  "  Give  Penrod  a  chance  to  say  what  he  wants 
to,  first,  can't  you?  Go  on,  Penrod." 

"Well,  you  know,  Sam,"  said  Penrod,  turning  to 


44  'How'm  I  go'  git  'at  stove-wood  when  my  briches  down  bottom  'at  cis- 
tern, I  like  you  answer  me,  please?'  " 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    191 

this  sympathetic  auditor;  "y°u  remember  that 
movin'-pitcher  show  we  went  to,  'Fortygraphing 
Wild  Animals  in  the  Jungle.'  Well,  Herman  would- 
n't have  to  do  a  thing  more  to  look  like  those  natives 
we  saw  that  the  man  called  the  'beaters.'  They 
were  dressed  just  about  like  the  way  he  is  now,  and 
if  Verman " 

"Mo  /"  said  Verman. 

"Oh,  wait  a  minute,  Verman!"  Sam  entreated. 
"Goon,  Penrod." 

"Well,  we  can  make  a  mighty  good  jungle  up  in 
the  loft,"  Penrod  continued  eagerly.  "We  can 
take  that  ole  dead  tree  that's  out  in  the  alley  and 
some  branches,  and  I  bet  we  could  have  the  best 
jungle  you  ever  saw.  And  then  we'd  fix  up  a  kind 
of  place  in  there  for  our  panther,  only,  of  course, 
we'd  haf  to  keep  him  in  the  cage  so's  he  wouldn't 
run  away,  but  we'd  pretend  he  was  loose.  And  then 
you  remember  how  they  did  with  that  calf?  Well, 
we'd  have  Duke  for  the  tied-up  calf  for  the  panther 
to  come  out  and  jump  on,  so  they  could  forty  graph 
him.  Herman  can  be  the  chief  beater,  and  we'll 
let  Verman  be  the  other  beaters,  and  I'll " 

"Yay!"  shouted  Sam  Williams.  "I'll  be  the 
forty  graph  man!' 


192  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"No,"  said  Penrod;  "you  be  the  one  with  the  gun 
that  guards  the  fortygraph  man,  because  I'm  the 
forty  graph  man  already.  You  can  fix  up  a  mighty 
good  gun  with  this  carpenter  shop,  Sam.  We'll 
make  spears  for  our  good  ole  beaters,  too,  and  I'm 
goin'  to  make  me  a  camera  out  o'  that  little  starch- 
box  and  a  bakin'-powder  can  that's  goin'  to  be  a 
mighty  good  ole  camera.  We  can  do  lots  more 
things " 

"Yay!"  Sam  cried.  "Let's  get  started!"  He 
paused.  "Wait  a  minute,  Penrod.  Verman  says 
he  won't " 

"Well,  he's  got  to!"  said  Penrod. 

"I  momp!"  Verman  insisted,  almost  distinctly. 

They  began  to  argue  with  him,  but,  for  a  time, 
Verman  remained  firm.  They  upheld  the  value  of 
dramatic  consistency,  declaring  that  a  beater  dressed 
as  completely  as  he  was  "wouldn't  look  like  any- 
thing at  all."  He  would  "spoil  the  whole  biznuss," 
they  said,  and  they  praised  Herman  for  the  faithful 
accuracy  of  his  costume.  They  also  insisted  that 
the  garment  in  question  was  much  too  large  for 
Verman,  anyway,  having  been  so  recently  worn 
by  Herman  and  turned  over  to  Verman  with  in- 
sufficient alteration,  and  they  expressed  surprise 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    193 

that  "anybody  with  any  sense"  should  make  such 
a  point  of  clinging  to  a  misfit. 

Herman  sided  against  his  brother  in  this  contro- 
versy, perhaps  because  a  certain  loneliness,  of  which 
he  was  conscious,  might  be  assuaged  by  the  company 
of  another  trouserless  person — or  it  may  be  that  his 
motive  was  more  sombre.  Possibly  he  remembered 
that  Verman's  trousers  were  his  own  former  property 
and  might  fit  him  in  case  the  promise  for  five  o'clock 
turned  out  badly.  At  all  events,  Verman  finally 
yielded  under  great  pressure,  and  consented  to 
appear  in  the  proper  costume  of  the  multitude  of 
beaters  it  now  became  his  duty  to  personify. 

Shouting,  the  boys  dispersed  to  begin  the  prep- 
aration of  their  jungle  scene.  Sam  and  Penrod 
went  for  branches  and  the  dead  tree,  while  Herman 
and  Verman  carried  the  panther  in  his  cage  to  the 
loft,  where  the  first  thing  that  Verman  did  was  to 
hang  his  trousers  on  a  nail  in  a  conspicuous  and 
accessible  spot  near  the  doorway.  And  with  the 
arrival  of  Penrod  and  Sam,  panting  and  dragging  no 
inconsiderable  thicket  after  them,  the  coloured 
brethren  began  to  take  a  livelier  interest  in  things. 
Indeed,  when  Penrod,  a  little  later,  placed  in  their 
hands  two  spears,  pointed  with  tin,  their  good  spirits 


194  PENROD  AND  SAM 

were  entirely  restored,  and  they  even  began  to  take  a 
pride  in  being  properly  uncos  turned  beaters. 

Sana's  gun  and  Penrod's  camera  were  entirely 
satisfactory,  especially  the  latter.  The  camera  was 
so  attractive,  in  fact,  that  the  hunter  and  the  chief 
beater  and  all  the  other  beaters  immediately  re- 
signed and  insisted  upon  being  photographers. 
Each  had  to  be  given  a  "turn"  before  the  jungle 
project  could  be  resumed. 

"Now,  for  goodnesses'  sakes,"  said  Penrod,  taking 
the  camera  from  Verman,  "I  hope  you're  done,  so's 
we  can  get  started  doin'  something  like  we  ought 
to !  We  got  to  have  Duke  for  a  tied-up  calf.  We'll 
have  to  bring  him  and  tie  him  out  here  in  front  the 
jungle,  and  then  the  panther '11  come  out  and  jump 
on  him.  Wait,  and  I'll  go  bring  him." 

Departing  upon  this  errand,  Penrod  found  Duke 
enjoying  the  declining  rays  of  the  sun  in  the  front 
yard. 

"Hyuh,  Duke!"  called  his  master,  in  an  indulgent 
tone.  "Come  on,  good  ole  Dukie!  Come  along!" 

Duke  rose  conscientious  y  and  followed  him. 

"I  got  him,  men!"  Penrod  called  from  the  stair- 
way. "I  got  our  good  ole  calf  all  ready  to  be 
tied  up.  Here  he  is!"  And  he  appeared  in  the 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    195 

doorway  with  the  unsuspecting  little  dog  beside 
him. 

Gipsy,  who  had  been  silent  for  some  moments, 
instantly  raised  his  banshee  battlecry,  and  Duke 
yelped  in  horror.  Penrod  made  a  wild  effort  to  hold 
him,  but  Duke  was  not  to  be  detained.  Unnatural 
strength  and  activity  came  to  him  in  his  delirium, 
and,  for  the  second  or  two  that  the  struggle  lasted, 
his  movements  were  too  rapid  for  the  eyes  of  the 
spectators  to  follow — merely  a  whirl  and  blur  in  the 
air  could  be  seen.  Then  followed  a  sound  of  violent 
scrambling — and  Penrod  sprawled  alone  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs. 

"Well,  why 'n't  you  come  and  help  me?"  he  de- 
manded indignantly.  "I  couldn't  get  him  back 
now  if  I  was  to  try  a  million  years ! " 

"What  we  goin'  to  do  about  it?"  Sam  asked. 

Penrod  rose  and  dusted  his  knees.  "  We  got  to  get 
along  without  any  tied-up  calf — that's  certain!  But 
I  got  to  take  those  forty  graphs  some  way  or  other!" 

"Me  an'  Verman  aw  ready  begin  'at  beatin'," 
Herman  suggested.  "You  tole  us  we  the  beaters." 

"Well,  wait  a  minute,"  said  Penrod,  whose  feeling 
for  realism  in  drama  was  always  alert.  "I  want 
to  get  a  mighty  good  pitcher  o'  that  ole  panther  this 


196  PENROD  AND  SAM 

time."  As  he  spoke,  lie  threw  open  the  wide  door 
intended  for  the  delivery  of  hay  into  the  loft  from 
the  alley  below.  "Now,  bring  the  cage  over  here 
by  this  door  so's  I  can  get  a  better  light;  it's  gettin' 
kind  of  dark  over  where  the  jungle  is.  We'll  pre- 
tend there  isn't  any  cage  there,  and  soon  as  I  get 
him  forty  graphed,  I'll  holler,  'Shoot,  men!'  Then 
you  must  shoot,  Sam — and  Herman,  you  and  Ver- 
man  must  hammer  on  the  cage  with  your  spears, 
and  holler:  'Hoo!  Hoo!'  and  pretend  you're  spearin' 
him." 

"Well,  we  aw  ready!"  said  Herman.  "Hoo! 
Hoo!" 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Penrod  interposed,  frowningly 
surveying  the  cage.  "I  got  to  squat  too  much  to 
get  my  camera  fixed  right."  He  assumed  various 
solemn  poses,  to  be  interpreted  as  those  of  a  photog- 
rapher studying  his  subject.  "No,"  he  said  fi- 
nally; "it  won't  take  good  that  way." 

"My  goo'ness!"  Herman  exclaimed.  "When  we 
goin'  begin  'at  beatin'?" 

"  Here ! "  Apparently  Penrod  had  solved  a  weighty 
problem.  "Bring  that  busted  ole  kitchen  chair, 
and  set  the  panther  up  on  it.  There!  That's  the 
ticket !  This  way,  it'll  make  a  mighty  good  pitcher ! ' ' 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    197 

He  turned  to  Sam  importantly.  "Well,  Jim,  is 
the  chief  and  all  his  beaters  here?" 

"Yes,  Bill;  all  here,"  Sam  responded,  with  an  air 
of  loyalty. 

"Well,  then,  I  guess  we're  ready,"  said  Penrod, 
in  his  deepest  voice.  "Beat,  men." 

Herman  and  Verman  were  anxious  to  beat.  They 
set  up  the  loudest  uproar  of  which  they  were  ca- 
pable. "Hoo!  Hoo!  Hoo!"  they  bellowed,  flailing 
the  branches  with  their  spears  and  stamping  heavily 
upon  the  floor.  Sam,  carried  away  by  the  6lan  of 
the  performance,  was  unable  to  resist  joining  them. 
"Hoo!  Hoo!  Hoo!"  he  shouted.  "Hoo!  Hoo! 
Hoo!"  And  as  the  dust  rose  from  the  floor  to  their 
stamping,  the  three  of  them  produced  such  a  din 
and  hoo-hooing  as  could  be  made  by  nothing  on 
earth  except  boys. 

"Back,  men!"  Penrod  called,  raising  his  voice  to 
the  utmost.  "Back  for  your  lives.  The  pa-a-anther  ! 
Now  I'm  takin'  his  pitcher.  Click,  click!  Shoot, 
men;  shoot!" 

"Bing!  Bing!"  shouted  Sam,  levelling  his  gun 
at  the  cage,  while  Herman  and  Verman  hammered 
upon  it,  and  Gipsy  cursed  boys,  the  world,  and  the 
day  he  was  born.  "Bing!  Bing!  Bing!" 


198  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"You  missed  him!"  screamed  Penrod.  "Give 
me  that  gun!"  And  snatching  it  from  Sam's  un- 
willing hand,  he  levelled  it  at  the  cage. 

"BiNG!"  he  roared. 

Simultaneously  there  was  the  sound  of  another 
report,  but  this  was  an  actual  one  and  may  best  be 
symbolized  by  the  statement  that  it  was  a  whack. 
The  recipient  was  Herman,  and,  outrageously  sur- 
prised and  pained,  he  turned  to  find  himself  face 
to  face  with  a  heavily  built  coloured  woman  who 
had  recently  ascended  the  stairs  and  approached  the 
preoccupied  hunters  from  the  rear.  In  her  hand 
was  a  lath,  and,  even  as  Herman  turned,  it  was  again 
wielded,  this  time  upon  Verman.' 

"Mammy  /" 

"Yes;  you  bettuh  holler,  'Mammy!' "  she  panted. 
"My  goo'ness,  if  yo'  pappy  don'  lam  you  to-night! 
Ain'  you  got  no  mo'  sense  'an  to  let  white  boys 
'suade  you  play  you  Affikin  heathums?  Whah  you 
britches?" 

"Yonnuh  Verman's,"  quavered  Herman. 

"Whah  y'own?" 

Choking,  Herman  answered  bravely: 

"'At  ole  cat  tuck  an*  th'owed  'em  down  cistern!" 

Exasperated  almost  beyond  endurance,  she  lifted 


"  'Bing!  Bing! '  shouted  Sam,  levelling  his  gun  at  the  cage,  while  Herman 
and  Verman  hammered  upon  it,  and  Gipsy  cursed  boys,  the  world,  and 
the  day  he  was  born" 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    199 

the  lath  again.  But  unfortunately,  in  order  to 
obtain  a  better  field  of  action,  she  moved  backward 
a  little,  coming  in  contact  with  the  bars  of  the  cage, 
a  circumstance  which  she  overlooked.  More  un- 
fortunately still,  the  longing  of  the  captive  to  express 
his  feelings  was  such  that  he  would  have  welcomed 
the  opportunity  to  attack  an  elephant.  He  had 
been  striking  and  scratching  at  inanimate  things 
and  at  boys  out  of  reach  for  the  past  hour,  but  here 
at  last  was  his  opportunity.  He  made  the  most  of 
it. 

"I  learn  you  tell  me  cat  th'owed — ooooh!" 
The  coloured  woman  leaped  into  the  air  like  an 
athlete,  and,  turning  with  a  swiftness  astounding  in 
one  of  her  weight,  beheld  the  semaphoric  arm  of 
Gipsy  again  extended  between  the  bars  and  hope- 
fully reaching  for  her.  Beside  herself,  she  lifted  her 
right  foot  briskly  from  the  ground,  and  allowed  the 
sole  of  her  shoe  to  come  in  contact  with  Gipsy's 
cage. 

The  cage  moved  from  the  tottering  chair  beneath 
it.  It  passed  through  the  yawning  hay-door  and 
fell  resoundingly  to  the  alley  below,  where — as 
Penrod  and  Sam,  with  cries  of  dismay,  rushed  to  the 
door  and  looked  down — it  burst  asunder  and  dis- 


200  PENROD  AND  SAM 

gorged  a  large,  bruised,  and  chastened  cat.  Gipsy 
paused  and  bent  one  strange  look  upon  the  broken 
box.  Then  he  shook  his  head  and  departed  up  the 
alley,  the  two  boys  watching  him  till  he  was  out  of 
sight. 

Before  they  turned,  a  harrowing  procession  issued 
from  the  carriage-house  doors  beneath  them.  Her- 
man came  first,  hurriedly  completing  a  temporary 
security  in  Verman's  trousers.  Verman  followed, 
after  a  little  reluctance,  which  departed  coincident- 
ally  with  some  inspiriting  words  from  the  rear.  He 
crossed  the  alley  hastily,  and  his  mammy  stalked 
behind,  using  constant  eloquence  and  a  frequent  lath. 
They  went  into  the  small  house  across  the  way  and 
closed  the  door. 

Then  Sam  turned  to  Penrod. 

"Penrod,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "was  it  on  ac- 
count of  forty  graphing  in  the  jungle  you  wanted  to 
keep  that  cat?" 

"No;  that  was  a  mighty  fine-blooded  cat.  We'd 
of  made  some  money." 

Sam  jeered. 

"You  mean  when  we'd  sell  tickets  to  look  at  it 
in  its  cage?" 

Penrod  shook  his  head,  and  if  Gipsy  could  have 


CAMERA  WORK  IN  THE  JUNGLE    201 

overheard  and  understood  his  reply,  that  atrabilious 
spirit,  almost  broken  by  the  events  of  the  day,  might 
have  considered  this  last  blow  the  most  overwhelm- 
ing of  all. 

"No,"  said  Penrod;  "when  she  had  kittens." 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   MODEL   LETTER   TO   A   FRIEND 

ON  MONDAY  morning  Penrod's  faith  in  the 
coming  of  another  Saturday  was  flaccid  and 
lustreless.  Those  Japanese  lovers  who  were 
promised  a  reunion  after  ten  thousand  years  in 
separate  hells  were  brighter  with  hope  than  he  was. 
On  Monday  Penrod  was  virtually  an  agnostic. 

Nowhere  upon  his  shining  morning  face  could  have 
been  read  any  eager  anticipation  of  useful  knowledge. 
Of  course  he  had  been  told  that  school  was  for  his 
own  good;  in  fact,  he  had  been  told  and  told  and 
told,  but  the  words  conveying  this  information, 
meaningless  at  first,  assumed,  with  each  repetition, 
more  and  more  the  character  of  dull  and  unsolicited 
insult. 

He  was  wholly  unable  to  imagine  circumstances, 
present  or  future,  under  which  any  of  the  instruction 
and  training  he  was  now  receiving  could  be  of  the 
slightest  possible  use  or  benefit  to  himself;  and  when 
he  was  informed  that  such  circumstances  would  fre- 

202 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    203 

quently  arise  in  his  later  life,  he  but  felt  the  slur  upon 
his  coming  manhood  and  its  power  to  prevent  any 
such  unpleasantness. 

If  it  were  possible  to  place  a  romantic  young 
Broadway  actor  and  athlete  under  hushing  super- 
vision for  six  hours  a  day,  compelling  him  to  bend  his 
unremittent  attention  upon  the  city  directory  of 
Sheboygan,  Wisconsin,  he  could  scarce  be  expected 
to  respond  genially  to  frequent  statements  that  the 
compulsion  was  all  for  his  own  good.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  might  be  reasonable  to  conceive  his  response 
as  taking  the  form  of  action,  which  is  precisely  the 
form  that  Penrod's  smouldering  impulse  yearned  to 
take. 

To  Penrod  school  was  merely  a  state  of  confine- 
ment, envenomed  by  mathematics.  For  intermi- 
nable periods  he  was  forced  to  listen  to  information 
concerning  matters  about  which  he  had  no  curiosity 
whatever;  and  he  had  to  read  over  and  over  the 
dullest  passages  in  books  that  bored  him  into  stu- 
pors, while  always  there  overhung  the  preposterous 
task  of  improvising  plausible  evasions  to  conceal  the 
fact  that  he  did  not  know  what  he  had  no  wish  to 
know.  Likewise,  he  must  always  be  prepared  to 
avoid  incriminating  replies  to  questions  which  he 


204  PENROD  AND  SAM 

felt  nobody  had  a  real  and  natural  right  to  ask  him. 
And  when  his  gorge  rose  and  his  inwards  revolted, 
the  hours  became  a  series  of  ignoble  misadventures 
and  petty  disgraces  strikingly  lacking  in  privacy. 

It  was  usually  upon  Wednesday  that  his  sufferings 
culminated;  the  nervous  strength  accumulated  dur- 
ing the  holiday  hours  at  the  end  of  the  week  would 
carry  him  through  Monday  and  Tuesday,  but  by 
Wednesday  it  seemed  ultimately  proven  that  the 
next  Saturday  actually  never  was  coming,  "this 
time,"  and  the  strained  spirit  gave  way.  Wednesday 
was  the  day  averaging  highest  in  Penrod's  list  of 
absences,  but  the  time  came  when  he  felt  that  the 
advantages  attendant  upon  his  Wednesday  "sick 
headache"  did  not  compensate  for  its  inconven- 
iences. 

For  one  thing,  this  illness  had  become  so  sym- 
metrically recurrent  that  even  the  cook  felt  that  he 
was  pushing  it  too  far,  and  the  liveliness  of  her  expres- 
sion, when  he  was  able  to  leave  his  couch  and  take 
the  air  in  the  backyard  at  about  ten  o'clock,  became 
more  disagreeable  to  him  with  each  convalescence. 
There  visibly  increased,  too,  about  the  whole  house- 
hold, an  atmosphere  of  uncongeniality  and  suspicion 
so  pronounced  that  every  successive  illness  was  neces- 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    205 

sarily  more  severe,  and  at  last  the  patient  felt  obliged 
to  remain  bedded  until  almost  eleven,  from  time  to 
time  giving  forth  pathetic  little  sounds  eloquent  of 
anguish  triumphing  over  Stoic  endurance,  yet  lack- 
ing a  certain  conviction  of  utterance. 

Finally,  his  father  enacted,  and  his  mother  ap- 
plied, a  new  and  distinctly  special  bit  of  legislation, 
explaining  it  with  simple  candor  to  the  prospective 
beneficiary. 

"Whenever  you  really  are  sick,"  they  said,  "y°u 
can  go  out  and  play  as  soon  as  you're  well — that  is, 
if  it  happens  on  Saturday.  But  when  you're  sick  on 
a  school-day,  you'll  stay  in  bed  till  the  next  morning. 
This  is  going  to  do  you  good,  Penrod." 

Physically,  their  opinion  appeared  to  be  affirmed, 
for  Wednesday  after  Wednesday  passed  without  any 
recurrence  of  the  attack,  but  the  spiritual  strain  may 
have  been  damaging.  And  it  should  be  added  that 
if  Penrod's  higher  nature  did  suffer  from  the  strain, 
he  was  not  unique.  For,  confirming  the  effect  of 
Wednesday  upon  boys  in  general,  it  is  probable  that, 
if  full  statistics  concerning  cats  were  available,  they 
would  show  that  cats  dread  Wednesdays,  and  that 
their  fear  is  shared  by  other  animals,  and  would  be 
shared,  to  an  extent  by  windows,  if  windows  pos- 


206  PENROD  AND  SAM 

sessed  nervous  systems.  Nor  must  this  probable 
apprehension  on  the  part  of  cats  and  the  like  be 
thought  mere  superstition.  Cats  have  superstitions, 
it  is  true,  but  certain  actions  inspired  by  the  sight 
of  a  boy  with  a  missile  in  his  hand  are  better  evidence 
of  the  workings  of  logic  upon  a  practical  nature  than 
of  faith  in  the  supernatural. 

Moreover,  the  attention  of  family  physicians  and 
specialists  should  be  drawn  to  these  significant  though 
obscure  phenomena;  for  the  suffering  of  cats  is  a 
barometer  of  the  nerve-pressure  of  boys,  and  it  may 
be  accepted  as  sufficiently  established  that  Wednes- 
day— after  school-hours — is  the  worst  time  for  cats. 

After  the  promulgation  of  that  parental  edict, 
"You'll  stay  in  bed  till  the  next  morning,"  four  weeks 
went  by  unflawed  by  a  single  absence  from  the  field 
of  duty,  but,  when  the  fifth  Wednesday  came,  Pen- 
rod  held  sore  debate  within  himself  before  he  finally 
rose.  In  fact,  after  rising,  and  while  actually  en- 
gaged with  his  toilet,  he  tentatively  emitted  the  series 
of  the  little  moans  that  was  his  wonted  preliminary 
to  a  quiet  holiday  at  home;  and  the  sound  was 
heard  (as  intended)  by  Mr.  Schofield,  who  was  pass- 
ing Penrod's  door  on  his  way  to  breakfast. 

"All  right!"  said  the  father,  making  use  of  peculiar 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    207 

and  unnecessary  emphasis.  "Stay  in  bed  till  to- 
morrow morning.  Castor-oil,  this  time,  too." 

Penrod  had  not  hoped  much  for  his  experiment; 
nevertheless,  his  rebellious  blood  was  sensibly  in- 
flamed by  the  failure,  and  he  accompanied  his  dress- 
ing with  a  low  murmuring — apparently  a  bitter  dia- 
logue between  himself  and  some  unknown  but  pow- 
erful patron. 

Thus  he  muttered: 

"Well,  they  better  not!"  "Well,  what  can  I  do 
about  it?"  "Well,  I'd  show  'em!"  "Well,  I  will 
show  'em!"  "Well,  you  ought  to  show  'em;  that's 
the  way  7  do!  I  just  shake  'em  around,  and  say, 
'Here !  I  guess  you  don't  know  who  you're  talkin'  to, 
that  way !  You  better  look  out !'"  "  Well,  that's  the 
way  I'm  goin'  to  do!"  "Well,  go  on  and  do  it, 
then!"  "Well,  I  am  goin' " 

The  door  of  the  next  room  was  slightly  ajar;  now 
it  swung  wide,  and  Margaret  appeared. 

"Penrod,  what  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Nothin'.     None  o'  your " 

"Well,  hurry  to  breakfast,  then;  it's  getting  late." 

Lightly  she  went,  humming  a  tune,  leaving  the 
door  of  her  room  open;  and  the  eyes  of  Penrod,  as  he 
donned  his  jacket,  chanced  to  fall  upon  her  desk, 


208  PENROD  AND  SAM 

where  she  had  thoughtlessly  left  a  letter — a  private 
missive  just  begun,  and  intended  solely  for  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Robert  Williams,  a  senior  at  a  far  university. 

In  such  a  fashion  is  coincidence  the  architect  of 
misfortune.  Penrod's  class  in  English  composition 
had  been  instructed,  the  previous  day,  to  concoct 
at  home  and  bring  to  class  on  Wednesday  morning, 
"a  model  letter  to  a  friend  on  some  subject  of  general 
interest."  Penalty  for  omission  to  perform  this 
simple  task  was  definite ;  whosoever  brought  no  letter 
would  inevitably  be  "kept  in"  after  school,  that 
afternoon,  until  the  letter  was  written,  and  it  was 
precisely  a  premonition  of  this  misfortune  which  had 
prompted  Penrod  to  attempt  his  experimental  moan- 
ing upon  his  father,  for,  alas !  he  had  equipped  himself 
with  no  model  letter,  nor  any  letter  whatever. 

In  stress  of  this  kind,  a  boy's  creed  is  that  anything 
is  worth  a  try;  but  his  eye  for  details  is  poor.  He  sees 
the  future  too  sweepingly  and  too  much  as  he  would 
have  it,  seldom  providing  against  inconsistencies  of 
evidence  which  may  damage  him.  For  instance, 
there  is  a  well-known  case  of  two  brothers  who 
exhibited  to  their  parents,  with  pathetic  confidence, 
several  imported  dried  herring  on  a  string,  as  a  proof 
that  the  afternoon  had  been  spent,  not  at  a  forbidden 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    209 

circus,  but  with  hook  and  line  upon  the  banks  of  a 
neighbouring  brook. 

So  with  Penrod.  He  had  vital  need  of  a  letter, 
and  there,  before  his  eyes,  upon  Margaret's  desk,  was 
apparently  the  precise  thing  he  needed ! 

From  below  rose  the  voice  of  his  mother  urging 
him  to  the  breakfast-table,  warning  him  that  he 
stood  in  danger  of  tardiness  at  school;  he  was  pressed 
for  time,  and  acted  upon  an  inspiration  which  failed 
to  prompt  him  even  to  read  the  letter. 

Hurriedly  he  wrote  "Dear  freind"  at  the  top  of 
the  page  Margaret  had  partially  filled.  Then  he 
signed  himself,  "Yours  respectfuly,  Penrod  Scho- 
field"  at  the  bottom,  and  enclosed  the  missive  within 
a  battered  volume  entitled,  "Principles  of  English 
Composition."  With  that  and  other  books  com- 
pacted by  a  strap,  he  descended  to  a  breakfast 
somewhat  oppressive  but  undarkened  by  any  mis- 
givings concerning  a  "letter  to  a  friend  on  some 
subject  of  general  interest."  He  felt  that  a  difficulty 
had  been  encountered  and  satisfactorily  disposed  of; 
the  matter  could  now  be  dismissed  from  his  mind. 
He  had  plenty  of  other  difficulties  to  take  its  place. 

No;  he  had  no  misgivings,  nor  was  he  assailed  by 
anything  unpleasant  in  that  line,  even  when  the 


£10  PENROD  AND  SAM 

hour  struck  for  the  class  in  English  composition. 
If  he  had  been  two  or  three  years  older,  experience 
might  have  warned  him  to  take  at  least  the  precau- 
tion of  copying  his  offering,  so  that  it  would  appear 
in  his  own  handwriting  when  he  "handed  it  in/* 
but  Penrod  had  not  even  glanced  at  it. 

"I  think,"  said  Miss  Spence,  "I  will  ask  several 
of  you  to  read  your  letters  aloud  before  you  hand 
them  in.  Clara  Ray  pole,  you  may  read  yours." 

Penrod  was  bored  but  otherwise  comfortable;  he 
had  no  apprehension  that  he  might  be  included  in 
the  "several,"  especially  as  Miss  Spence's  beginning 
with  Clara  Raypole,  a  star  performer,  indicated 
that  her  selection  of  readers  would  be  made  from  the 
conscientious  and  proficient  division  at  the  head  of 
the  class.  He  listened  stoically  to  the  beginning  of 
the  first  letter,  though  he  was  conscious  of  a  dull 
resentment,  inspired  mainly  by  the  perfect  com- 
placency of  Miss  Raypole's  voice. 

"'Dear  Cousin  Sadie,'"  she  began  smoothly, 
"  'I  thought  I  would  write  you  to-day  on  some  sub- 
ject of  general  interest,  and  so  I  thought  I  would 
tell  you  about  the  subject  of  our  court-house.  It  is  a 
very  fine  building  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  city, 
and  a  visit  to  the  building  after  school  hours  well 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    211 

repays  for  the  visit.  Upon  entrance  we  find  upon 
our  left  the  office  of  the  county  clerk  and  upon  our 
right  a  number  of  windows  affording  a  view  of  the 
street.  And  so  we  proceed,  finding  on  both  sides 
much  of  general  interest.  The  building  was  begun  in 
1886  A.  D.  and  it  was  through  in  1887  A.  D.  It  is  four 
stories  high  and  made  of  stone,  pressed  brick,  wood, 
and  tiles,  with  a  tower,  or  cupola,  one  hundred 
and  twenty-seven  feet  seven  inches  from  the  ground. 
Among  other  subjects  of  general  interest  told  by 
the  janitor,  we  learn  that  the  architect  of  the 
building  was  a  man  named  Planner,  and  the  foun- 
dations extend  fifteen  feet  five  inches  under  the 
ground '" 

Penrod  was  unable  to  fix  his  attention  upon  these 
statistics;  he  began  moodily  to  twist  a  button  of  his 
jacket  and  to  concentrate  a  new-born  and  obscure 
but  lasting  hatred  upon  the  court-house.  Miss 
Raypole's  glib  voice  continued  to  press  upon  his 
ears,  but,  by  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  twisting 
button  he  had  accomplished  a  kind  of  self-hypnosis, 
or  mental  anaesthesia,  and  was  but  dimly  aware  of 
what  went  on  about  him. 

The  court-house  was  finally  exhausted  by  its 
visitor,  who  resumed  her  seat  and  submitted  with 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

beamish  grace  to  praise.  Then  Miss  Spence  said, 
in  a  favourable  manner : 

"Georgie  Bassett,  you  may  read  your  letter 
next." 

The  neat  Georgie  rose,  nothing  loath,  and  began: 
«"  Dear  Teacher '" 

There  was  a  slight  titter,  which  Miss  Spence  sup- 
pressed. Georgie  was  not  at  all  discomfited. 

"'My  mother  says,'"  he  continued,  reading  his 
manuscript,  "  'we  should  treat  our  teacher  as  a  friend, 
and  so  I  will  write  you  a  letter."1 

This  penetrated  Penrod's  trance,  and  he  lifted 
his  eyes  to  fix  them  upon  the  back  of  Georgie  Bas- 
sett's  head  in  a  long  and  inscrutable  stare.  It  was 
inscrutable,  and  yet  if  Georgie  had  been  sensitive 
to  thought  waves,  it  is  probable  that  he  would  have 
uttered  a  loud  shriek,  but  he  remained  placidly  un- 
aware, continuing: 

"'I  thought  I  would  write  you  about  a  subject  of 
general  interest,  and  so  I  will  write  you  about  the 
flowers.  There  are  many  kinds  of  flowers,  spring 
flowers,  and  summer  flowers,  and  autumn  flowers, 
but  no  winter  flowers.  Wild  flowers  grow  in  the 
woods,  and  it  is  nice  to  hunt  them  in  springtime, 
and  we  must  remember  to  give  some  to  the  poor 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    213 

and  hospitals,  also.  Flowers  can  be  made  to  grow 
in  flower-beds  and  placed  in  vases  in  houses.  There 
are  many  names  for  flowers,  but  I  call  them  "na- 
ture's ornaments" "J 

Penrod's  gaze  had  relaxed,  drooped  to  his  button 
again,  and  his  lethargy  was  renewed.  The  outer 
world  grew  vaguer;  voices  seemed  to  drone  at  a  dis- 
tance; sluggish  time  passed  heavily — but  some  of  it 
did  pass. 

"Penrod!" 

Miss  Spence's  searching  eye  had  taken  note  of  the 
bent  head  and  the  twisting  button.  She  found  it 
necessary  to  speak  again. 

"Penrod  Schofield!" 

He  came  languidly  to  life. 

"Ma'am?" 

"You  may  read  your  letter." 

"Yes'm." 

And  he  began  to  paw  clumsily  among  his  books, 
whereupon  Miss  Spence's  glance  fired  with  sus- 
picion. 

"Have  you  prepared  one?"  she  demanded. 

"Yes'm,"  said  Penrod  dreamily. 

"But  you're  going  to  find  you  forgot  to  bring  it, 
aren't  you?" 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  got  it,"  said  Penrod,  discovering  the  paper 
in  his  "Principles  of  English  Composition." 

"Well,  we'll  listen  to  what  you've  found  time  to 
prepare,"  she  said,  adding  coldly,  "for  once!" 

The  frankest  pessimism  concerning  Penrod  per- 
meated the  whole  room;  even  the  eyes  of  those  whose 
letters  had  not  met  with  favour  turned  upon  him 
with  obvious  assurance  that  here  was  every  prospect 
of  a  performance  which  would,  by  comparison,  lend 
a  measure  of  credit  to  the  worst  preceding  it.  But 
Penrod  was  unaffected  by  the  general  gaze;  he  rose, 
still  blinking  from  his  lethargy,  and  in  no  true  sense 
wholly  alive. 

He  had  one  idea:  to  read  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible, so  as  to  be  done  with  the  task,  and  he  be- 
gan in  a  high-pitched  monotone,  reading  with  a 
blind  mind  and  no  sense  of  the  significance  of  the 
words. 

"'Dear  friend,'"  he  declaimed.  "'You  call  me 
beautiful,  but  I  am  not  really  beautiful,  and  there 
are  times  when  I  doubt  if  I  am  even  pretty,  though 
perhaps  my  hair  is  beautiful,  and  if  it  is  true  that  my 
eyes  are  like  blue  stars  in  heaven 

Simultaneously  he  lost  his  breath  and  there  burst 
upon  him  a  perception  of  the  results  to  which  he 


"  '  Dear  friend,'  he  declaimed,  '  you  call  me  beautiful,  but  1  am  not  really 
beautiful ' " 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    215 

was  being  committed  by  this  calamitous  reading. 
And  also  simultaneous  was  the  outbreak  of  the  class 
into  cachinnations  of  delight,  severely  repressed  by 
the  perplexed  but  indignant  Miss  Spence. 

"Go  on!"  she  commanded  grimly,  when  she  had 
restored  order. 

"Ma'am?  "  he  gulped,  looking  wretchedly  upon  the 
rosy  faces  all  about  him. 

"Go  on  with  the  description  of  yourself,"  she 
said.  "We'd  like  to  hear  some  more  about  your 
eyes  being  like  blue  stars  in  heaven." 

Here  many  of  Penrod's  little  comrades  were 
forced  to  clasp  their  faces  tightly  in  both  hands; 
and  his  dismayed  gaze,  in  refuge,  sought  the  treacher- 
ous paper  in  his  hand. 

What  it  beheld  there  was  horrible. 

"Proceed!"  said  Miss  Spence. 

'VI— often  think,'"  he  faltered,  "'and  a-a  tree- 
more  thu-thrills  my  bein'  when  I  recall  your  last 
words  to  me  that  last — that  last — that ' " 

"Goon/" 

:<That  last  evening  in  the  moonlight  when  you 
—you— you ' " 

"Penrod,"  Miss  Spence  said  dangerously,  "you 
go  on,  and  stop  that  stammering." 


216  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"'You — you  said  you  would  wait  for — for  years 

to— to— to— to '  " 

"Penrodl" 

"'To  win  me!"'  the  miserable Penrod managed  to 
gasp.  '  'I  should  not  have  pre — premitted — per- 
mitted you  to  speak  so  until  we  have  our — our 

parents'  con-consent;  but  oh,  how  sweet  it "3 

He  exhaled  a  sigh  of  agony,  and  then  concluded 
briskly,  "'Yours  respectfully,  Penrod  Schofield.'" 

But  Miss  Spence  had  at  last  divined  something, 
for  she  knew  the  Schofield  family. 

"Bring  me  that  letter!"  she  said. 

And  the  scarlet  boy  passed  forward  between  rows 
of  mystified  but  immoderately  uplifted  children. 

Miss  Spence  herself  grew  rather  pink  as  she  ex- 
amined the  missive,  and  the  intensity  with  which 
she  afterward  extended  her  examination  to  cover 
the  complete  field  of  Penrod  Schofield  caused  him 
to  find  a  remote  centre  of  interest  whereon  to  rest 
his  embarrassed  gaze.  She  let  him  stand  before 
her  throughout  a  silence,  equalled,  perhaps,  by  the 
tenser  pauses  during  trials  for  murder,  and  then, 
containing  herself,  she  sweepingly  gestured  him  to 
the  pillory — a  chair  upon  the  platform,  facing  the 
school. 


A  MODEL  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND    217 

Here  he  suffered  for  the  unusual  term  of  an  hour, 
with  many  jocular  and  cunning  eyes  constantly  upon 
him;  and,  when  he  was  released  at  noon,  horrid 
shouts  and  shrieks  pursued  him  every  step  of  his 
homeward  way.  For  his  laughter-loving  little  school- 
mates spared  him  not — neither  boy  nor  girl. 

"Yay,  Penrod!"  they  shouted.  "How's  your 
beautiful  hair?"  And,  "Hi,  Penrod!  When  you 
goin'  to  get  your  parents'  consent?"  And,  "Say, 
blue  stars  in  heaven,  how's  your  beautiful  eyes?" 
And,  "  Say,  Penrod,  how's  your  tree-mores  ?  "  "  Does 
your  tree-mores  thrill  your  bein',  Penrod?"  And 
many  other  facetious  inquiries,  hard  to  bear  in 
public. 

And  when  he  reached  the  temporary  shelter  of  his 
home,  he  experienced  no  relief  upon  finding  that 
Margaret  was  out  for  lunch.  He  was  as  deeply 
embittered  toward  her  as  toward  any  other,  and, 
considering  her  largely  responsible  for  his  misfortune, 
he  would  have  welcomed  an  opportunity  to  show  her 
what  he  thought  of  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WEDNESDAY  MADNESS 

HOW  long  he  was  "kept  in"  after  school  that 
afternoon  is  not  a  matter  of  record,  but  it 
was  long.  Before  he  finally  appeared  upon 
the  street,  he  had  composed  an  ample  letter  on  a  sub- 
ject of  general  interest,  namely  "School  Life,"  under 
the  supervision  of  Miss  Spence;  he  had  also  received 
some  scorching  admonitions  in  respect  to  honourable 
behaviour  regarding  other  people's  letters;  and  Mar- 
garet's had  been  returned  to  him  with  severe  instruc- 
tions to  bear  it  straight  to  the  original  owner  ac- 
companied by  full  confession  and  apology.  As  a 
measure  of  insurance  that  these  things  be  done, 
Miss  Spence  stated  definitely  her  intention  to  hold  a 
conversation  by  telephone  with  Margaret  that  even- 
ing. Altogether,  the  day  had  been  unusually  awful, 
even  for  Wednesday,  and  Penrod  left  the  school-house 
with  the  heart  of  an  anarchist  throbbing  in  his  hot 
bosom.  It  were  more  accurate,  indeed,  to  liken 
him  to  the  anarchist's  characteristic  weapon;  for, 

218 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  219 

as  Penrod  came  out  to  the  street  he  was,  in  all  in- 
ward respects,  a  bomb,  loaded  and  ticking. 

He  walked  moodily,  with  a  visible  aspect  of  sore- 
ness. A  murmurous  sound  was  thick  about  his 
head,  wherefore  it  is  to  be  surmised  that  he  com- 
muned with  his  familiar,  and  one  vehement,  oft- 
repeated  phrase  beat  like  a  tocsin  of  revolt  upon  the 
air:  "Daw-gone  'em!" 

He  meant  everybody — the  universe. 

Particularly  included,  evidently,  was  a  sparrow, 
offensively  cheerful  upon  a  lamp-post.  This  self- 
centred  little  bird  allowed  a  pebble  to  pass  overhead 
and  remained  unconcerned,  but,  a  moment  later,  feel- 
ing a  jar  beneath  his  feet,  and  hearing  the  tinkle  of  fall- 
ing glass,  he  decided  to  leave.  Similarly,  and  at  the 
same  instant,  Penrod  made  the  same  decision,  and  the 
sparrow  in  flight  took  note  of  a  boy  likewise  in  flight. 

The  boy  disappeared  into  the  nearest  alley  and 
emerged  therefrom,  breathless,  in  the  peaceful  vicin- 
ity of  his  own  home.  He  entered  the  house,  clumped 
upstairs  and  down,  discovered  Margaret  reading  a 
book  in  the  library,  and  flung  the  accursed  letter 
toward  her  with  loathing. 

"You  can  take  the  old  thing,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"7  don't  want  it!" 


220  PENROD  AND  SAM 

And  before  she  was  able  to  reply,  he  was  out  of  the 
room.  The  next  moment  he  was  out  of  the  house. 

"Daw-gone  'em!"  he  said. 

And  then,  across  the  street,  his  soured  eye  fell 
upon  his  true  comrade  and  best  friend  leaning  against 
a  picket  fence  and  holding  desultory  converse  with 
Mabel  Rorebeck,  an  attractive  member  of  the  Friday 
Afternoon  Dancing  Class,  that  hated  organization 
of  which  Sam  and  Penrod  were  both  members.  Ma- 
bel was  a  shy  little  girl,  but  Penrod  had  a  vague 
understanding  that  Sam  considered  her  two  brown 
pigtails  beautiful. 

Howbeit,  Sam  had  never  told  his  love;  he  was,  in 
fact,  sensitive  about  it.  This  meeting  with  the  lady 
was  by  chance,  and  although  it  afforded  exquisite 
moments,  his  heart  was  beating  in  an  unaccustomed 
manner,  and  he  was  suffering  from  embarrassment, 
being  at  a  loss,  also,  for  subjects  of  conversation.  It 
is,  indeed,  no  easy  matter  to  chat  easily  with  a  person, 
however  lovely  and  beloved,  who  keeps  her  face 
turned  the  other  way,  maintains  one  foot  in  rapid  and 
continuous  motion  through  an  arc  seemingly  perilous 
to  her  equilibrium,  and  confines  her  responses,  both 
affirmative  and  negative,  to  "Uh-huh." 

Altogether,  Sam  was  sufficiently  nervous  without 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS 

any  help  from  Penrod,  and  it  was  with  pure  horror 
that  he  heard  his  own  name  and  Mabel's  shrieked 
upon  the  ambient  air  with  viperish  insinuation. 

"Sam-my  and  May-bul!     Oh,  oh!" 

Sam  started  violently.  Mabel  ceased  to  swing  her 
foot,  and  both,  encarnadined,  looked  up  and  down  and 
everywhere  for  the  invisible  but  well-known  owner  of 
that  voice.  It  came  again,  in  taunting  mockery : 

"  Sammy's  mad,  and  I  am  glad, 
And  I  know  what  will  please  him : 

A  bottle  o'  wine  to  make  him  shine, 
And  Mabel  Rorebeck  to  squeeze  him!" 

"Fresh  ole  thing!"  said  Miss  Rorebeck,  becoming 
articulate.  And,  unreasonably  including  Sam  in  her 
indignation,  she  tossed  her  head  at  him  with  an  un- 
mistakable effect  of  scorn.  She  began  to  walk  away. 

"Well,  Mabel,"  said  Sam  plaintively,  following,  "it 
ain't  my  fault.  I  didn't  do  anything.  It's  Penrod." 

"I  don't  care,"  she  began  pettishly,  when  the 
viperish  voice  was  again  lifted: 

"Oh,  oh,  oh! 

Who's  your  beau? 

Guess  I  know: 

Mabel  and  Sammy,  oh,  oh,  oh! 

/  caught  you!" 


222  PENROD  AND  SAM 

.Then  Mabel  did  one  of  those  things  which  eternally 
perplex  the  slower  sex.  She  deliberately  made  a  face, 
not  at  the  tree  behind  which  Penrod  was  lurking,  but 
at  the  innocent  and  heart- wrung  Sam.  "You  need- 
n't come  limpin'  after  me,  Sam  Williams!"  she  said, 
though  Sam  was  approaching  upon  two  perfectly 
sound  legs.  And  then  she  ran  away  at  the  top  of 
her  speed.  -v 

^"Run,  nigger,  run!"  Penrod  began  inexcusably. 
But  Sam  cut  the  persecutions  short  at  this  point. 
Stung  to  fury,  he  charged  upon  the  sheltering  tree  in 
the  Schofields'  yard. 

Ordinarily,  at  such  a  juncture,  Penrod  would  have 
fled,  keeping  his  own  temper  and  increasing  the  heat 
of  his  pursuer's  by  back-flung  jeers.  But  this  was 
Wednesday,  and  he  was  in  no  mood  to  run  from  Sam. 
He  stepped  away  from  the  tree,  awaiting  the  onset. 

"Well,  what  you  goin'  to  do  so  much?"  he  said. 

Sam  did  not  pause  to  proffer  the  desired  in- 
formation. "Tcha  got'ny  sense!"  was  the  total 
extent  of  his  vocal  preliminaries  before  flinging  him- 
self headlong  upon  the  taunter;  and  the  two  boys 
went  to  the  ground  together.  Embracing,  they 
rolled,  they  pommelled,  they  hammered,  they  kicked. 
Alas,  this  was  a  fight. 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  223 

They  rose,  flailing  awhile,  /then  renewed  their  em- 
brace, and,  grunting,  bestowed  themselves  anew  upon 
our  ever  too  receptive  Mother  Earth.  Once  more 
upon  their  feet,  they  beset  each  other  sorely,  dealing 
many  great  blows,  ofttimes  upon  the  air,  but  with 
sufficient  frequency  upon  resentful  flesh.  Tears  were 
jolted  to  the  rims  of  eyes,  but  technically  they  did 
not  weep.  "Got'ny  sense,"  was  repeated  chokingly 
many,  many  times;  also,  "Dern  ole  fool!"  and,  "I'll 
show  you!" 

The  peacemaker  who  appeared  upon  the  animated 
scene  was  Penrod's  great-uncle  Slocum.  This  elderly 
relative  had  come  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Schofield,  and 
he  was  well  upon  his  way  to  the  front  door  when  the 
mutterings  of  war  among  some  shrubberies  near  the 
fence  caused  him  to  deflect  his  course  in  benevolent 
agitation. 

"Boys!  Boys!  Shame,  boys!"  he  said,  but,  as 
the  originality  of  these  expressions  did  not  prove 
striking  enough  to  attract  any  great  attention  from 
the  combatants,  he  felt  obliged  to  assume  a  share  in 
the  proceedings.  It  was  a  share  entailing  greater 
activity  than  he  had  anticipated,  and,  before  he 
managed  to  separate  the  former  friends,  he  inter- 
cepted bodily  an  amount  of  violence  to  which  he 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  wholly  unaccustomed.  Additionally,  his  attire 
was  disarranged;  his  hat  was  no  longer  upon  his 
head,  and  his  temper  was  in  a  bad  way.  In  fact, 
as  his  hat  flew  off,  he  made  use  of  words  which,  under 
less  extreme  circumstances,  would  have  caused  both 
boys  to  feel  a  much  profounder  interest  than  they 
did  in  great-uncle  Slocum. 

"I'll  get  you!"  Sam  babbled.  "Don't  you  ever 
dare  to  speak  to  me  again,  Penrod  Schofield,  long  as 
you  live,  or  I'll  whip  you  worse'n  I  have  this  time ! " 

Penrod  squawked.  For  the  moment  he  was  in- 
capable of  coherent  speech,  and  then,  failing  in  a 
convulsive  attempt  to  reach  his  enemy,  his  fury  cul- 
minated upon  an  innocent  object  which  had  never 
done  him  the  slightest  harm.  Great-uncle  Slocum's 
hat  lay  upon  the  ground  close  by,  and  Penrod  was 
in  that  state  of  irritation  which  seeks  an  outlet  too 
blindly— as  people  say,  he  "had  to  do  something  I" 
He  kicked  great-uncle  Slocum's  hat  with  such  sweep 
and  precision  that  it  rose  swiftly,  and,  breasting 
the  autumn  breeze,  passed  over  the  fence  and  out 
into  the  street. 

Great-uncle  Slocum  uttered  a  scream  of  anguish, 
and,  immediately  ceasing  to  peacemake,  ran  forth 
to  a  more  important  rescue;  but  the  conflict  was  not 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  225 

renewed.  Sanity  had  returned  to  Sam  Williams; 
he  was  awed  by  this  colossal  deed  of  Penrod's  and 
filled  with  horror  at  the  thought  that  he  might  be 
held  as  accessory  to  it.  Fleetly  he  fled,  pursued  as 
far  as  the  gate  by  the  whole  body  of  Penrod,  and 
thereafter  by  Penrod's  voice  alone. 

"You  better  run!  You  wait  till  I  catch  you! 
You'll  see  what  you  get  next  time!  Don't  you  ever 
speak  to  me  again  as  long  as  you " 

Here  he  paused  abruptly,  for  great-uncle  Slocum 
had  recovered  his  hat  and  was  returning  toward 
the  gate.  After  one  glance  at  great-uncle  Slocum 
Penrod  did  not  linger  to  attempt  any  explanation — 
there  are  times  when  even  a  boy  can  see  that  apolo- 
gies would  seem  out  of  place.  This  one  ran  round 
the  house  to  the  backyard. 

Here  he  was  enthusiastically  greeted  by  Duke. 
"You  get  away  from  me!"  said  Penrod  hoarsely, 
and  with  terrible  gestures  he  repulsed  the  faithful 
animal,  who  retired  philosophically  to  the  stable, 
while  his  master  let  himself  out  of  the  back  gate. 
Penrod  had  decided  to  absent  himself  from  home 
for  the  time  being. 

The  sky  was  gray,  and  there  were  hints  of  com- 
ing dusk  in  the  air;  it  was  an  hour  suited  to  his 


226  PENROD  AND  SAM 

turbulent  soul,  and_he  walked  with  a  sombre  swag- 
ger. "Ran  like  a  c'ardy-calf!"  he  sniffed,  half 
aloud,  alluding  to  the  haste  of  Sam  Williams  in 
departure.  "All  he  is,  ole  c'ardy-calf!" 

Then,  as  he  proceeded  up  the  alley,  a  hated  cry 
smote  his  ears:  "Hi,  Penrod!  How's  your  tree- 
mores?"  And  two  jovial  schoolboy  faces  appeared 
above  a  high  board  fence.  "How's  your  beautiful 
hair,  Penrod?"  they  vociferated.  "When  you  goin' 
to  git  your  parents'  consent?  What  makes  you  think 
you're  only  pretty,  ole  blue  stars?" 

Penrod  looked  about  feverishly  for  a  missile,  and 
could  find  none  to  his  hand,  but  the  surface  of  the 
alley  sufficed;  he  made  mud  balls  and  fiercely  bom- 
barded the  vociferous  fence.  Naturally,  hostile 
mud  balls  presently  issued  from  behind  this  bar- 
ricade; and  thus  a  campaign  developed  which  offered 
a  picture  not  unlike  a  cartoonist's  sketch  of  a  political 
campaign,  wherein  this  same  material  is  used  for 
the  decoration  of  opponents.  But  Penrod  had  been 
unwise;  he  was  outnumbered,  and  the  hostile  forces 
held  the  advantageous  side  of  the  fence. 

Mud  balls  can  be  hard  as  well  as  soggy;  some  of 
those  that  reached  Penrod  were  of  no  inconsiderable 
weight  and  substance,  and  they  made  him  grunt 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  227 

despite  himself.  Finally,  one,  at  close  range,  struck 
him  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  whereupon  he  clasped 
himself  about  the  middle  silently,  and  executed 
some  steps  in  seeming  imitation  of  a  quaint  Indian 
dance. 

His  plight  being  observed  through  a  knothole, 
his  enemies  climbed  upon  the  fence  and  regarded 
him  seriously. 

"Aw,  you're  all  right,  ain't  you,  old  tree-mores?" 
inquired  one. 

"I'll  show  you!"  bellowed  Penrod,  recovering  his 
breath;  and  he  hurled  a  fat  ball — thoughtfully  re- 
tained in  hand  throughout  his  agony — to  such  effect 
that  his  interrogator  disappeared  backward  from 
the  fence  without  having  taken  any  initiative  of  his 
own  in  the  matter.  His  comrade  impulsively  joined 
him  upon  the  ground,  and  the  battle  continued. 

Through  the  gathering  dusk  it  went  on.  It  waged 
but  the  hotter  as  darkness  made  aim  more  difficult — 
and  still  Penrod  would  not  be  driven  from  the  field. 
Panting,  grunting,  hoarse  from  returning  insults, 
fighting  on  and  on,  an  indistinguishable  figure  in  the 
gloom,  he  held  the  back  alley  against  all  comers. 

For  such  a  combat  darkness  has  one  great  advan- 
tage, but  it  has  an  equally  important  disadvantage — 


228  PENROD  AND  SAM 

the  combatant  cannot  see  to  aim;  on  the  other  hand, 
he  cannot  see  to  dodge.  And  all  the  while  Penrod 
was  receiving  two  for  one.  He  became  heavy  with 
mud.  Plastered,  impressionistic,  and  sculpturesque, 
there  was  about  him  a  quality  of  the  tragic,  of  the 
magnificent.  He  resembled  a  sombre  masterpiece 
by  Rodin.  No  one  could  have  been  quite  sure  what 
he  was  meant  for. 

Dinner  bells  tinkled  in  houses.  Then  they  were 
rung  from  kitchen  doors.  Calling  voices  came  urg- 
ing from  the  distance,  calling  boys'  names  into  the 
darkness.  They  called,  and  a  note  of  irritation 
seemed  to  mar  their  beauty. 

Then  bells  were  rung  again — and  the  voices  re- 
newed appeals  more  urgent,  much  more  irritated. 
They  called  and  called  and  called. 

Thud  !  went  the  mud  balls. 

Thud!    Thud!    Blunk! 

"Oof /"said  Penrod. 

.  .  .  Sam  Williams,  having  dined  with  his  family 
at  their  usual  hour,  seven,  slipped  unostentatiously 
out  of  the  kitchen  door,  as  soon  as  he  could,  after 
the  conclusion  of  the  meal,  and  quietly  betook  him- 
self to  the  Schofields'  corner. 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  229 

Here  lie  stationed  himself  where  he  could  see  all 
avenues  of  approach  to  the  house,  and  waited. 
Twenty  minutes  went  by,  and  then  Sam  became 
suddenly  alert  and  attentive,  for  the  arc-light  re- 
vealed a  small,  grotesque  figure  slowly  approaching 
along  the  sidewalk.  It  was  brown  in  colour,  shaggy 
and  indefinite  in  form;  it  limped  excessively,  and 
paused  to  rub  itself,  and  to  meditate. 

Peculiar  as  the  thing  was,  Sam  had  no  doubt  as 
to  its  identity.  He  advanced. 

"  'Lo,  Penrod,"  he  said  cautiously,  and  with  a 
shade  of  formality. 

Penrod  leaned  against  the  fence,  and,  lifting  one 
leg,  tested  the  knee-joint  by  swinging  his  foot  back 
and  forth,  a  process  evidently  provocative  of  a 
little  pain.  Then  he  rubbed  the  left  side  of  his  en- 
crusted face,  and,  opening  his  mouth  to  its  whole 
capacity  as  an  aperture,  moved  his  lower  jaw  slightly 
from  side  to  side,  thus  triumphantly  settling  a  ques- 
tion in  his  own  mind  as  to  whether  or  no  a  suspected 
dislocation  had  taken  place. 

Having  satisfied  himself  on  these  points,  he  ex- 
amined both  shins  delicately  by  the  sense  of  touch, 
and  carefully  tested  the  capacities  of  his  neck-muscles 
to  move  his  head  in  a  wonted  manner. 


230  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Then  he  responded  somewhat  gruffly: 

"'Lo!" 

"Where  you  been?"  Sam  said  eagerly,  his  formal- 
ity vanishing. 

"Havin5  a  mud-fight." 

"I  guess  you  did!"  Sam  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice. 
"What  you  goin'  to  tell  your " 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

"Your  sister  telephoned  to  our  house  to  see  if  I 
knew  where  you  were,"  said  Sam.  "She  told  me  if 
I  saw  you  before  you  got  home  to  tell  you  sumpthing, 
but  not  to  say  anything  about  it.  She  said  Miss 
Spence  had  telephoned  to  her,  but  she  said  for  me 
to  tell  you  it  was  all  right  about  that  letter,  and 
she  wasn't  goin'  to  tell  your  mother  and  father 
on  you,  so  you  needn't  say  anything  about  it  to 


'em." 


"All  right,"  said  Penrod  indifferently. 

"She  says  you're  goin'  to  be  in  Enough  trouble 
without  that,"  Sam  went  on.  "You're  goin'  to 
catch  fits  about  your  Uncle  Slocum's  hat,  Penrod." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  know  it." 

"And  about  not  comin'  home  to  dinner,  too.  Your 
mother  telephoned  twice  to  mamma  while  we  were 
eatin'  to  see  if  you'd  come  in  our  house.  And  when 


WEDNESDAY  MADNESS  231 

they  see  you — my,  but  you're  goin'  to  get  the  dickens, 
Penrod!" 

Penrod  seemed  unimpressed,  though  he  was  well 
aware  that  Sam's  prophecy  was  no  unreasonable  one. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  know  it,"  he  repeated  casually. 
And  he  moved  slowly  toward  his  own  gate. 

His  friend  looked  after  him  curiously — then,  as 
the  limping  figure  fumbled  clumsily  with  bruised 
fingers  at  the  latch  of  the  gate,  there  sounded  a 
little  solicitude  in  Sam's  voice. 

"Say,  Penrod,  how — how  do  you  feel?" 

"What?" 

"Do  you  feel  pretty  bad?" 

"No,"  said  Penrod,  and,  in  spite  of  what  awaited 
him  beyond  the  lighted  portals  just  ahead,  he  spoke 
the  truth.  His  nerves  were  rested,  and  his  soul  was 
at  peace.  His  Wednesday  madness  was  over. 

"No,"  said  Penrod;  "I  feel  bully!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PENROD 's  BUSY  DAY 

A  THOUGH  the  pressure  had  thus  been  re- 
lieved and  Penrod  found  peace  with  himself, 
nevertheless  there  were  times  during  the  rest 
of  that  week  when  he  felt  a  strong  distaste  for  Mar- 
garet. His  schoolmates  frequently  reminded  him  of 
such  phrases  in  her  letter  as  they  seemed  least  able 
to  forget,  and  for  hours  after  each  of  these  experiences 
he  was  unable  to  comport  himself  with  human  cour- 
tesy when  constrained  (as  at  dinner)  to  remain  for 
any  length  of  time  in  the  same  room  with  her.  But 
by  Sunday  these  moods  had  seemed  to  pass;  he  at- 
tended church  in  her  close  company,  and  had  no 
thought  of  the  troubles  brought  upon  him  by  her 
correspondence  with  a  person  who  throughout  re- 
mained unknown  to  him. 

Penrod  slumped  far  down  in  the  pew  with  his 
knees  against  the  back  of  that  in  front,  and  he  also 
languished  to  one  side,  so  that  the  people  sitting 
behind  were  afforded  a  view  of  him  consisting  of  a 

232 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  233 

little  hair  and  one  bored  ear.  The  sermon — a  noble 
one,  searching  and  eloquent — was  but  a  persistent 
sound  in  that  ear,  though,  now  and  then,  Penrod's 
attention  would  be  caught  by  some  detached  portion 
of  a  sentence,  when  his  mind  would  dwell  dully  upon 
the  phrases  for  a  little  while — and  lapse  into  a  torpor. 
At  intervals  his  mother,  without  turning  her  head, 
would  whisper,  "Sit  up,  Penrod,"  causing  him  to  sigh 
profoundly  and  move  his  shoulders  about  an  inch, 
this  mere  gesture  of  compliance  exhausting  all  the 
energy  that  remained  to  him. 

The  black  backs  and  gray  heads  of  the  elderly 
men  in  the  congregation  oppressed  him;  they  gave 
him  a  lethargic  and  indefinite  feeling  that  he  was  im- 
mersed among  lives  of  repellent  dullness.  But  he 
should  have  been  grateful  to  the  lady  with  the 
artificial  cherries  upon  her  hat.  His  gaze  lingered 
there,  wandered  away,  and  hopelessly  returned  again 
and  again,  to  be  a  little  refreshed  by  the  glossy  scarlet 
of  the  cluster  of  tiny  globes.  He  was  not  so  fortunate 
as  to  be  drowsy;  that  would  have  brought  him  some 
relief — and  yet,  after  a  while,  his  eyes  became  slightly 
glazed;  he  saw  dimly,  and  what  he  saw  was  distorted. 

The  church  had  been  built  in  the  early  'Seventies, 
and  it  contained  some  naive  stained  glass  of  that 


234  PENROD  AND  SAM 

period.  The  arch  at  the  top  of  a  window  facing 
Penrod  was  filled  with  a  gigantic  Eye.  Of  oyster- 
white  and  raw  blues  and  reds,  inflamed  by  the  pour- 
ing sun,  it  had  held  an  awful  place  in  the  infantile 
life  of  Penrod  Schofield,  for  in  his  tenderer  years  he 
accepted  it  without  question  as  the  literal  Eye  of 
Deity.  He  had  been  informed  that  the  church  was 
the  divine  dwelling — and  there  was  the  Eye! 

Nowadays,  being  no  longer  a  little  child,  he  had 
somehow  come  to  know  better  without  being  told, 
and  though  the  great  flaming  Eye  was  no  longer  the 
terrifying  thing  it  had  been  to  him  during  his  child- 
hood, it  nevertheless  retained  something  of  its  omi- 
nous character.  It  made  him  feel  spied  upon,  and  its 
awful  glare  still  pursued  him,  sometimes,  as  he  was 
falling  asleep  at  night.  When  he  faced  the  window 
his  feeling  was  one  of  dull  resentment. 

His  own  glazed  eyes,  becoming  slightly  crossed 
with  an  ennui  which  was  peculiarly  intense  this 
morning,  rendered  the  Eye  more  monstrous  than  it 
was.  It  expanded  to  horrible  size,  growing  moun- 
tainous; it  turned  into  a  volcano  in  the  tropics,  and 
yet  it  stared  at  him,  indubitably  an  Eye  implacably 
hostile  to  all  rights  of  privacy  forever.  Penrod 
blinked  and  clinched  his  eyelids  to  be  rid  of  this  dual 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  235 

image,  and  he  managed  to  shake  off  the  volcano. 
Then,  lowering  the  angle  of  his  glance,  he  saw  some- 
thing most  remarkable — and  curiously  out  of  place. 

An  inverted  white  soup-plate  was  lying  miracu- 
lously balanced  upon  the  back  of  a  pew  a  little  dis- 
tance in  front  of  him,  and  upon  the  upturned  bottom 
of  the  soup  plate  was  a  brown  cocoanut.  Mildly 
surprised,  Penrod  yawned,  and,  in  the  effort  to 
straighten  his  eyes,  came  to  life  temporarily.  The 
cocoanut  was  revealed  as  Georgie  Bassett's  head,  and 
the  soup-plate  as  Georgie's  white  collar.  Georgie 
was  sitting  up  straight,  as  he  always  did  in  church, 
and  Penrod  found  this  vertical  rectitude  unpleasant. 
He  knew  that  he  had  more  to  fear  from  the  Eye  than 
Georgie  had,  and  he  was  under  the  impression  (a 
correct  one)  that  Georgie  felt  on  intimate  terms  with 
it  and  was  actually  fond  of  it. 

Penrod  himself  would  have  maintained  that  he 
was  fond  of  it,  if  he  had  been  asked.  He  would  have 
said  so  because  he  feared  to  say  otherwise;  and  the 
truth  is  that  he  never  consciously  looked  at  the  Eye 
disrespectfully.  He  would  have  been  alarmed  if  he 
thought  the  Eye  had  any  way  of  finding  out  how  he 
really  felt  about  it.  When  not  off  his  guard,  he 
always  looked  at  it  placatively. 


236  PENROD  AND  SAM 

By  and  by,  he  sagged  so  far  to  the  left  that  he  had 
symptoms  of  a  "stitch  in  the  side,"  and,  rousing  him- 
self, sat  partially  straight  for  several  moments.  Then 
he  rubbed  his  shoulders  slowly  from  side  to  side 
against  the  back  of  the  seat,  until  his  mother  whis- 
pered, "Don't  do  that,  Penrod." 

Upon  this,  he  allowed  himself  to  slump  inwardly 
till  the  curve  in  the  back  of  his  neck  rested  against  the 
curved  top  of  the  back  of  the  seat.  It  was  a  congen- 
ial fit,  and  Penrod  again  began  to  move  slowly  from 
side  to  side,  finding  the  friction  soothing.  Even  so 
slight  a  pleasure  was  denied  him  by  a  husky,  "Stop 
that!"  from  his  father. 

Penrod  sighed,  and  slid  farther  down.  He  scratched 
his  head,  his  left  knee,  his  right  biceps,  and  his 
left  ankle,  after  which  he  scratched  his  right  knee, 
his  right  ankle,  and  his  left  biceps.  Then  he  said, 
"Oh,  hum!"  unconsciously,  but  so  loudly  that  there 
was  a  reproving  stir  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Schofield  pew,  and  his  father  looked  at  him  angrily. 

Finally,  his  nose  began  to  trouble  him.  It  itched, 
and  after  scratching  it,  he  rubbed  it  harshly.  An- 
other "Stop  that!"  from  his  father  proved  of  no 
avail,  being  greeted  by  a  desperate-sounding  whisper, 
"I  got  to!" 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  237 

And,  continuing  to  rub  his  nose  with  his  right  hand, 
Penrod  began  to  search  his  pockets  with  his  left. 
The  quest  proving  fruitless,  he  rubbed  his  nose  with 
his  left  hand  and  searched  with  his  right.  Then  he 
abandoned  his  nose  and  searched  feverishly  with  both 
hands,  going  through  all  of  his  pockets  several  times. 

"What  do  you  want?"  whispered  his  mother. 

But  Margaret  had  divined  his  need,  and  she  passed 
him  her  own  handkerchief.  This  was  both  thought- 
ful and  thoughtless — the  latter  because  Margaret 
was  in  the  habit  of  thinking  that  she  became  faint  in 
crowds,  especially  at  the  theatre  or  in  church,  and  she 
had  just  soaked  her  handkerchief  with  spirits  of 
ammonia  from  a  small  phial  which  she  carried  in  her 
muff. 

Penrod  hastily  applied  the  handkerchief  to  his 
nose  and  even  more  hastily  exploded.  He  sneezed 
stupendously;  he  choked,  sneezed  again,  wept,  passed 
into  a  light  convulsion  of  coughing  and  sneezing 
together — a  mergence  of  sound  which  attracted 
much  attention — and,  after  a  few  recurrent  spasms, 
convalesced  into  a  condition  marked  by  silent  tears 
and  only  sporadic  instances  of  sneezing. 

By  this  time  his  family  were  unanimously  scarlet 
— his  father  and  mother  with  mortification,  and 


238  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Margaret  with  the  effort  to  control  the  almost  ir- 
resistible mirth  which  the  struggles  and  vociferations 
of  Penrod  had  inspired  within  her.  And  yet  her 
heart  misgave  her,  for  his  bloodshot  and  tearful 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  from  the  first  and  remained 
upon  her,  even  when  half -blinded  with  his  agony; 
and  their  expression — as  terrible  as  that  of  the  win- 
dowed Eye  confronting  her — was  not  for  an  instant 
to  be  misunderstood.  Absolutely,  he  considered 
that  she  had  handed  him  the  ammonia-soaked 
handkerchief  deliberately  and  with  malice,  and 
well  she  knew  that  no  power  on  earth  could 
now  or  at  any  time  henceforth  persuade  him  other- 
wise. 

"Of  course  I  didn't  mean  it,  Penrod,"  she  said, 
at  the  first  opportunity  upon  their  homeward  way .  "I 
didn't  notice— that  is,  I  didn't  think "  Un- 
fortunately for  the  effect  of  sincerity  which  she  hoped 
to  produce,  her  voice  became  tremulous  and  her 
shoulders  moved  suspiciously. 

"Just  you  wait!  You'll  see!"  he  prophesied,  in  a 
voice  now  choking,  not  with  ammonia,  but  with 
emotion.  "Poison  a  person,  and  then  laugh  in  his 
face!" 

He  spake  no  more  until  they  had  reached  their 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  239 

own  house,  though  she  made  some  further  futile 
efforts  at  explanation  and  apology. 

And  after  brooding  abysmally  throughout  the 
meal  that  followed,  he  disappeared  from  the  sight 
of  his  family,  having  answered  with  one  frightful 
look  his  mother's  timid  suggestion  that  it  was  almost 
time  for  Sunday-school.  He  retired  to  his  eyry — 
the  sawdust  box  in  the  empty  stable — and  there  gave 
rein  to  his  embittered  imaginings,  incidentally  form- 
ing many  plans  for  Margaret. 

Most  of  these  were  much  too  elaborate,  but  one 
was  so  alluring  that  he  dwelt  upon  it,  working  out 
the  details  with  gloomy  pleasure,  even  after  he  had 
perceived  its  defects.  It  involved  a  considerable 
postponement — in  fact,  until  Margaret  should  have 
become  the  mother  of  a  boy  about  Penrod's  present 
age.  This  boy  would  be  precisely  like  Georgie 
Bassett — Penrod  conceived  that  as  inevitable — and, 
like  Georgie,  he  would  be  his  mother's  idol.  Penrod 
meant  to  take  him  to  church  and  force  him  to  blow 
his  nose  with  an  ammonia-soaked  handkerchief  in 
the  presence  of  the  Eye  and  all  the  congregation. 

Then  Penrod  intended  to  say  to  this  boy,  after 
church,  "Well,  that's  exackly  what  your  mother  did 
to  me,  and  if  you  don't  like  it,  you  better  look  out!" 


240  PENROD  AND  SAM 

And  the  real  Penrod  in  the  sawdust,  box  clenched 
his  fists.  "  Come  ahead,  then ! "  he  muttered.  "  You 
talk  too  much!"  Whereupon,  the  Penrod  of  his 
dream  gave  Margaret's  puny  son  a  contemptuous 
thrashing  under  the  eyes  of  his  mother,  who  besought 
in  vain  for  mercy.  This  plan  was  finally  dropped, 
not  because  of  any  lingering  nepotism  within  Penrod, 
but  because  his  injury  called  for  action  less  belated. 

One  after  another,  he  thought  of  impossible  things; 
one  after  another,  he  thought  of  things  merely  inane 
and  futile,  for  he  was  trying  to  do  something  beyond 
his  power.  Penrod  was  never  brilliant,  or  even  suc- 
cessful, save  by  inspiration. 

At  four  o'clock  he  came  into  the  house,  still 
nebulous,  and  as  he  passed  the  open  door  of  the 
library  he  heard  a  man's  voice,  not  his  father's. 

"To  me,"  said  this  voice,  "the  finest  lines  in  all 
literature  are  those  in  Tennyson's  'Maud' — 

"  'Had  it  lain  for  a  century  dead, 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 
And  blossom  in  purple  and  red, 
There  somewhere  around  near  her  feet.' 

"I  think  I  have  quoted  correctly,"  continued  the 
voice  nervously,  "but,  at  any  rate,  what  I  wished  to 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  241 

— ah — say  was  that  I  often  think  of  those — ah — 
words;  but  I  never  think  of  them  without  thinking 

of — of — of  you.     I — ah " 

The  nervous  voice  paused,  and  Penrod  took  an 
oblique  survey  of  the  room,  himself  unobserved. 
Margaret  was  seated  in  an  easy  chair  and  her  face 
was  turned  away  from  Penrod,  so  that  her  expression 
of  the  moment  remained  unknown  to  him.  Facing 
her,  and  leaning  toward  her  with  perceptible  emo- 
tion, was  Mr.  Claude  Blakely — a  young  man  with 
whom  Penrod  had  no  acquaintance,  though  he  had 
seen  him,  was  aware  of  his  identity,  and  had  heard 
speech  between  Mrs.  Schofield  and  Margaret  which 
indicated  that  Mr.  Blakely  had  formed  the  habit  of 
calling  frequently  at  the  house.  This  was  a  brilli- 
antly handsome  young  man;  indeed,  his  face  was  so 
beautiful  that  even  Penrod  was  able  to  perceive 
something  about  it  which  might  be  explicably  pleas- 
ing— at  least  to  women.  And  Penrod  remembered 
that,  on  the  last  evening  before  Mr.  Robert  Williams's 
departure  for  college,  Margaret  had  been  peevish 
because  Penrod  had  genially  spent  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  evening  with  Robert  and  herself  upon  the 
porch.  Margaret  made  it  clear,  later,  that  she 
strongly  preferred  to  conduct  her  conversations 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

with  friends  unassisted — and  as  Penrod  listened  to 
the  faltering  words  of  Mr.  Claude  Blakely,  he  felt 
instinctively  that,  in  a  certain  contingency,  Mar- 
garet's indignation  would  be  even  more  severe  to-day 
than  on  the  former  occasion. 

Mr.  Blakely  coughed  faintly  and  was  able  to  con- 
tinue. 

"I  mean  to  say  that  when  I  say  that  what  Tenny- 
son says — ah — seems  to — to  apply  to — to  a  feeling 
about  you " 

At  this  point,  finding  too  little  breath  in  himself 
to  proceed,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  spoken 
in  an  almost  inaudible  tone,  Mr.  Blakely  stopped 
again. 

Something  about  this  little  scene  was  making  a 
deep  impression  upon  Penrod.  What  that  impres- 
sion was,  he  could  not  possibly  have  stated;  but  he 
had  a  sense  of  the  imminence  of  a  tender  crisis,  and 
he  perceived  that  the  piquancy  of  affairs  in  the 
library  had  reached  a  point  which  would  brand  an 
intentional  interruption  as  the  act  of  a  cold-blooded 
ruffian.  Suddenly  it  was  as  though  a  strong  light 
shone  upon  him:  he  decided  that  it  was  Mr.  Blakely 
who  had  told  Margaret  that  her  eyes  were  like  blue 
stars  in  heaven — this  was  the  person  who  had  caused 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  243 

the  hateful  letter  to  be  written!  That  decided 
Penrod;  his  inspiration,  so  long  waited  for,  had 
come. 

"I — I  feel  that  perhaps  I  am  not  plain,"  said  Mr. 
Blakely,  and  immediately  became  red,  whereas  he 
had  been  pale.  He  was  at  least  modest  enough  about 
his  looks  to  fear  that  Margaret  might  think  he  had 
referred  to  them.  "I  mean,  not  plain  in  another 
sense — that  is,  I  mean  not  that  I  am  not  plain  in 
saying  what  I  mean  to  you — I  mean,  what  you  mean 
to  me  I  I  feel " 

This  was  the  moment  selected  by  Penrod.  He 
walked  carelessly  into  the  library,  inquiring  in  a  loud, 
bluff  voice: 

"Has  anybody  seen  my  dog  around  here  any- 
wheres?" 

Mr.  Blakely  had  inclined  himself  so  far  toward 
Margaret,  and  he  was  sitting  so  near  the  edge  of  the 
chair,  that  only  a  really  wonderful  bit  of  instinctive 
gymnastics  landed  him  upon  his  feet  instead  of  upon  his 
back.  As  for  Margaret,  she  said,  "Good  gracious!" 
and  regarded  Penrod  blankly. 

"Well,"  said  Penrod  breezily,  "I  guess  it's  no  use 
lookin'  for  him — he  isn't  anywheres  around.  I  guess 
I'll  sit  down."  Herewith,  he  sank  into  an  easy 


244  PENROD  AND  SAM 

chair,  and  remarked,  as  in  comfortable  explanation, 
"I'm  kind  of  tired  standin*  up,  anyway." 

Even  in  this  crisis,  Margaret  was  a  credit  to  her 
mother's  training. 

"Penrod,  have  you  met  Mr.  Blakely?" 

"What?" 

Margaret  primly  performed  the  rite. 

"Mr.  Blakely,  this  is  my  little  brother  Penrod." 

Mr.  Blakely  was  understood  to  murmur,  "How 
d'ye  do?" 

"I'm  well,"  said  Penrod. 

Margaret  bent  a  perplexed  gaze  upon  him,  and 
he  saw  that  she  had  not  divined  his  intentions, 
though  the  expression  of  Mr.  Blakely  was  already 
beginning  to  be  a  little  compensation  for  the  am- 
monia outrage.  Then,  as  the  protracted  silence 
which  followed  the  introduction  began  to  be  a  severe 
strain  upon  all  parties,  Penrod  felt  called  upon  to 
relieve  it. 

"I  didn't  have  anything  much  to  do  this  after- 
noon,  anyway,"  he  said.  And  at  that  there  leaped 
a  spark  in  Margaret's  eye;  her  expression  became 
severe. 

"You  should  have  gone  to  Sunday-school,"  she 
told  him  crisply. 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  245 

"Well,  I  didn't!"  said  Penrod,  with  a  bitterness 
so  significant  of  sufferings  connected  with  religion, 
ammonia,  and  herself,  that  Margaret,  after  giving 
him  a  thoughtful  look,  concluded  not  to  urge  the 
point. 

Mr.  Blakely  smiled  pleasantly.  "I  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  a  minute  ago,"  he  said,  "and  I 
saw  a  dog  run  across  the  street  and  turn  the  corner." 

"What  kind  of  a  lookin'  dog  was  it?"  Penrod  in- 
quired, with  languor. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Blakely,  "it  was  a— it  was  a 
nice-looking  dog." 

"What  colour  was  he?" 

"He  was— ah— white.     That  is,  I  think " 

"It  wasn't  Duke,"  said  Penrod.  "Duke's  kind 
of  brownish-gray-like." 

Mr.  Blakely  brightened. 

"Yes,  that  was  it,"  he  said.  " This  dog  I  saw  first 
had  another  dog  with  him — a  brownish-gray  dog." 

"Little  or  big?"  Penrod  asked,  without  interest. 

"Why,  Duke's  a  little  dog!"  Margaret  intervened. 
"Of  course,  if  it  was  little,  it  must  have  been  Duke." 

"It  was  little,"  said  Mr.  Blakely  too  enthusiasti- 
cally. "It  was  a  little  bit  of  a  dog.  I  noticed  it 
because  it  was  so  little." 


246  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Couldn't  'a'  been  Duke,  then,"  said  Penrod. 
"Duke's  a  kind  of  a  middle-sized  dog."  He  yawned, 
and  added:  "I  don't  want  him  now.  I  want  to 
stay  in  the  house  this  afternoon,  anyway.  And 
it's  better  for  Duke  to  be  out  in  the  fresh  air." 

Mr.  Blakely  coughed  again  and  sat  down,  finding 
little  to  say.  It  was  evident,  also,  that  Margaret 
shared  his  perplexity;  and  another  silence  became  so 
embarrassing  that  Penrod  broke  it. 

"I  was  out  in  the  sawdust-box,"  he  said,  "but  it 
got  kind  of  chilly."  Neither  of  his  auditors  felt 
called  upon  to  offer  any  comment,  and  presently  he 
added,  "I  thought  I  better  come  in  here  where  it's 


warmer." 


"It's  too  warm,"  said  Margaret,  at  once.  "Mr. 
Blakely,  would  you  mind  opening  a  window?" 

"By  all  means!"  the  young  man  responded  ear- 
nestly, as  he  rose.  " Maybe  I'd  better  open  two? " 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret;  "that  would  be  much 
better." 

But  Penrod  watched  Mr.  Blakely  open  two  win- 
dows to  their  widest,  and  betrayed  no  anxiety.  His 
remarks  upon  the  relative  temperatures  of  the  saw- 
dust-box and  the  library  had  been  made  merely  for 
the  sake  of  creating  sound  in  a  silent  place.  When 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  247 

the  windows  had  been  open  for  several  minutes, 
Penrod's  placidity,  though  gloomy,  denoted  any- 
thing but  discomfort  from  the  draft,  which  was 
powerful,  the  day  being  windy. 

It  was  Mr.  Blakely's  turn  to  break  a  silence,  and 
he  did  it  so  unexpectedly  that  Margaret  started. 
He  sneezed. 

"  Perhaps "  Margaret  began,  but  paused  appre- 
hensively. "Perhaps-per-per Her  apprehen- 
sions became  more  and  more  poignant;  her  eyes 
seemed  fixed  upon  some  incredible  disaster;  she  ap- 
peared to  inflate  while  the  catastrophe  she  foresaw 
became  more  and  more  imminent.  All  at  once  she 
collapsed,  but  the  power  decorum  had  over  her  was 
attested  by  the  mildness  of  her  sneeze  after  so 
threatening  a  prelude. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  put  one  of  the  windows 
down,"  Mr.  Blakely  suggested. 

"Both,  I  believe,"  said  Margaret.  "The  room 
has  cooled  off,  now,  I  think." 

Mr.  Blakely  closed  the  windows,  and,  returning 
to  a  chair  near  Margaret,  did  his  share  in  the  pro- 
duction of  another  long  period  of  quiet.  Penrod 
allowed  this  one  to  pass  without  any  vocal  disturb- 
ance on  his  part.  It  may  be,  however,  that  his 


248  PENROD  AND  SAM 

gaze  was  disturbing  to  Mr.  Blakely,  upon  whose 
person  it  was  glassily  fixed  with  a  self-forgetfulness 
that  was  almost  morbid. 

"Didn't  you  enjoy  the  last  meeting  of  the  Cotil- 
lion Club?"  Margaret  said  finally. 

And  upon  Mr.  Blakely 's  answering  absently  in  the 
affirmative,  she  suddenly  began  to  be  talkative.  He 
seemed  to  catch  a  meaning  in  her  fluency,  and  fol- 
lowed her  lead,  a  conversation  ensuing  which  at 
first  had  all  the  outward  signs  of  eagerness.  They 
talked  with  warm  interest  of  people  and  events  un- 
known to  Penrod;  they  laughed  enthusiastically 
about  things  beyond  his  ken;  they  appeared  to  have 
arranged  a  perfect  way  to  enjoy  themselves,  no 
matter  whether  he  was  with  them  or  elsewhere — but 
presently  their  briskness  began  to  slacken;  the  ap- 
pearance of  interest  became  perfunctory.  Within 
ten  minutes  the  few  last  scattering  semblances  of 
gayety  had  passed,  and  they  lapsed  into  the  longest 
and  most  profound  of  all  their  silences  indoors  that 
day.  Its  effect  upon  Penrod  was  to  make  him  yawn 
and  settle  himself  in  his  chair. 

Then  Mr.  Blakely,  coming  to  the  surface  out  of 
deep  inward  communings,  snapped  his  finger  against 
the  palm  of  his  hand  impulsively. 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  249 

"By  George!"  he  exclaimed,  under  his  breath. 

"  What  is  it?  "  Margaret  asked.  "  Did  you  remem- 
ber something?" 

"No,  it's  nothing,"  he  said.  "Nothing  at  all. 
But,  by  the  way,  it  seems  a  pity  for  you  to  be  missing 
the  fine  weather.  I  wonder  if  I  could  persuade  you 
to  take  a  little  walk?" 

Margaret,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  both  the 
gentlemen  present,  looked  uncertain. 

"I  don't  know "  she  said. 

Mr.  Blakely  saw  that  she  missed  his  point. 

"One  can  talk  better  in  the  open,  don't  you 
think?"  he  urged,  with  a  significant  glance  toward 
Penrod. 

Margaret  also  glanced  keenly  at  Penrod.  "Well, 
perhaps."  And  then,  "I'll  get  my  hat,"  she  said. 

Penrod  was  on  his  feet  before  she  left  the  room. 
He  stretched  himself. 

"I'll  get  mine,  too,"  he  said. 

But  he  carefully  went  to  find  it  in  a  direction 
different  from  that  taken  by  his  sister,  and  he  joined 
her  and  her  escort  not  till  they  were  at  the  front 
door,  whither  Mr.  Blakely — with  a  last  flickering  of 
hope — had  urged  a  flight  in  haste. 

"I  been  thinkin'  of  takin'  a  walk,  all  afternoon," 


250  PENROD  AND  SAM 

said  Penrod  pompously.  "Don't  matter  to  me 
which  way  we  go." 

The  exquisite  oval  of  Mr.  Claude  Blakely's  face 
merged  into  outlines  more  rugged  than  usual;  the 
conformation  of  his  jaw  became  perceptible,  and  it 
could  be  seen  that  he  had  conceived  an  idea  which 
was  crystallizing  into  a  determination. 

"I  believe  it  happens  that  this  is  our  first  walk 
together,"  he  said  to  Margaret,  as  they  reached  the 
pavement,  "but,  from  the  kind  of  tennis  you  play, 
I  judge  that  you  could  go  a  pretty  good  gait.  Do  you 
like  walking  fast?" 

She  nodded.     "For  exercise." 

"Shall  we  try  it  then?" 

"You  set  the  pace,"  said  Margaret.  "I  think  I 
can  keep  up." 

He  took  her  at  her  word,  and  the  amazing  briskness 
of  their  start  seemed  a  little  sinister  to  Penrod, 
though  he  was  convinced  that  he  could  do  anything 
that  Margaret  could  do,  and  also  that  neither  she  nor 
her  comely  friend  could  sustain  such  a  speed  for 
long.  On  the  contrary,  they  actually  increased  it 
with  each  fleeting  block  they  covered. 

"Here!"  he  panted,  when  they  had  thus  put  some- 
thing more  than  a  half-mile  behind  them.  "There 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  251 

isn't  anybody  has  to  have  a  doctor,  I  guess!  What's 
the  use  our  walkin'  so  fast?" 

In  truth,  Penrod  was  not  walking,  for  his  shorter 
legs  permitted  no  actual  walking  at  such  a  speed; 
his  gait  was  a  half -trot. 

"Oh,  we're  out  for  a  walk  /"  Mr.  Blakely  returned, 
a  note  of  gayety  beginning  to  sound  in  his  voice. 
"Marg — ah — Miss  Schofield,  keep  your  head  up  and 
breathe  through  your  nose.  That's  it!  You'll  find 
I  was  right  in  suggesting  this.  It's  going  to 
turn  out  gloriously!  Now,  let's  make  it  a  little 
faster." 

Margaret  murmured  inarticulately,  for  she  would 
not  waste  her  breath  in  a  more  coherent  reply.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed;  her  eyes  were  brimming  with 
the  wind,  but  when  she  looked  at  Penrod,  they  were 
brimming  with  something  more.  Gurgling  sounds 
came  from  her. 

Penrod's  expression  had  become  grim.  He  of- 
fered no  second  protest,  mainly  because  he,  likewise, 
would  not  waste  his  breath,  and  if  he  would,  he  could 
not.  Of  breath  in  the  ordinary  sense — breath, 
breathed  automatically — he  had  none.  He  had  only 
gasps  to  feed  his  straining  lungs,  and  his  half-trot, 
which  had  long  since  become  a  trot,  was  changed  for 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

a  lope  when  Mr.  Blakely  reached  his  own  best  burst 
of  speed. 

And  now  people  stared  at  the  flying  three.  The 
gait  of  Margaret  and  Mr.  Blakely  could  be  called  a 
walk  only  by  courtesy,  while  Penrod's  was  becoming 
a  kind  of  blind  scamper.  At  times  he  zigzagged; 
other  times,  he  fell  behind,  wabbling.  Anon,  with 
elbows  flopping  and  his  face  sculptured  like  an  an- 
tique mask,  he  would  actually  forge  ahead,  and  then 
carom  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  companions  as  he 
fell  back  again. 

Thus  the  trio  sped  through  the  coming  of  autumn 
dusk,  outflying  the  fallen  leaves  that  tumbled  upon 
the  wind.  And  still  Penrod  held  to  the  task  that  he 
had  set  himself.  The  street  lamps  flickered  into 
life,  but  on  and  on  Claude  Blakely  led  the  lady,  and 
on  and  on  reeled  the  grim  Penrod.  Never  once  was 
he  so  far  from  them  that  they  could  have  exchanged  a 
word  unchaperoned  by  his  throbbing  ear. 

" Oh!"  Margaret  cried,  and,  halting  suddenly,  she 
draped  herself  about  a  lamp-post  like  a  strip  of 
bunting.  "Guh-uh-guh-goodness!"  she  sobbed. 

Penrod  immediately  drooped  to  the  curb-stone, 
which  he  reached,  by  pure  fortune,  in  a  sitting  posi- 
tion. Mr.  Blakely  leaned  against  a  fence,  and  said 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  253 

nothing,  though  his  breathing  was  eloquent.     "  We— 
we  must  go — go  home,"  Margaret  gasped.     "We 
must,  if — if  we  can  drag  ourselves!" 

Then  Penrod  showed  them  what  mettle  they  had 
tried  to  crack.  A  paroxysm  of  coughing  shook  him; 
he  spoke  through  it  sobbingly: 

"  'Drag ! '  'S  jus'  lul-like  a  girl !  Ha-why  I  walk— 
oof! — faster'n  that  every  day — on  my — way  to 
school."  He  managed  to  subjugate  a  tendency  to 
nausea.  "What  you — want  to  go — home  for?"  he 
said.  "Le's  go  on!" 

In  the  darkness  Mr.  Claude  Blakely's  expression 
could  not  be  seen,  nor  was  his  voice  heard.  For 
these  and  other  reasons,  his  opinions  and  sentiments 
may  not  be  stated. 

.  .  .  Mrs.  Schofield  was  looking  rather  anx- 
iously forth  from  her  front  door  when  the  two  adult 
figures  and  the  faithful  smaller  one  came  up  the  walk. 

"I  was  getting  uneasy,"  she  said.  "Papa  and  I 
came  in  and  found  the  house  empty.  It's  after 
seven.  Oh,  Mr.  Blakely,  is  that  you?" 

"Good-evening,"  he  said.  "I  fear  I  must  be 
keeping  an  engagement.  Good-night.  Good-night, 
Miss  Schofield." 


254  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Good-night." 

"Well,  good-night,"  Penrod  called,  staring  after 
him.  But  Mr.  Blakely  was  already  too  far  away  to 
hear  him,  and  a  moment  later  Penrod  followed  his 
mother  and  sister  into  the  house. 

"I  let  Delia  go  to  church,"  Mrs.  Schofield  said  to 
Margaret.  "You  and  I  might  help  Katie  get  sup- 
per." 

"Not  for  a  few  minutes,"  Margaret  returned 
gravely,  looking  at  Penrod.  "Come  upstairs, 
mamma;  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

Penrod  cackled  hoarse  triumph  and  defiance. 

"Go  on!  Tell!  What  '/  care?  You  try  to 
poison  a  person  in  church  again,  and  then  laugh  in 
his  face,  you'll  see  what  you  get!" 

But  after  his  mother  had  retired  with  Margaret 
to  the  latter 9s  room,  he  began  to  feel  disturbed  in 
spite  of  his  firm  belief  that  his  cause  was  wholly 
that  of  justice  victorious.  Margaret  had  insidious 
ways  of  stating  a  case;  and  her  point  of  view,  no 
matter  how  absurd  or  unjust,  was  almost  always 
adopted  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Schofield  in  cases  of  con- 
troversy. 

Penrod  became  uneasy.  Perceiving  himself  to 
be  in  danger,  he  decided  that  certain  measures  were 


PENROD'S  BUSY  DAY  255 

warranted.  Unquestionably,  it  would  be  well  to 
know  beforehand  in  what  terms  Margaret  would 
couch  the  charges  which  he  supposed  he  must  face 
in  open  court — that  is  to  say,  at  the  supper-table. 
He  stole  softly  up  the  stairs,  and,  flattening  himself 
against  the  wall,  approached  Margaret's  door,  which 
was  about  an  inch  ajar. 

He  heard  his  mother  making  sounds  which  ap- 
palled him — he  took  them  for  sobs.  And  then  Mar- 
garet's voice  rang  out  in  a  peal  of  insane  laughter. 
Trembling,  he  crept  nearer  the  door.  Within  the 
room  Margaret  was  clinging  to  her  mother,  and  both 
were  trying  to  control  their  hilarity. 

"He  did  it  all  to  get  even!"  Margaret  exclaimed, 
wiping  her  eyes.  "He  came  in  at  just  the  right 
time.  That  goose  was  beginning  to  talk  his  silly, 
soft  talk — the  way  he  does  with  every  girl  in  town — 
and  he  was  almost  proposing,  and  I  didn't  know 
how  to  stop  him.  And  then  Penrod  came  in  and 
did  it  for  me.  I  could  have  hugged  Penrod,  mamma, 
I  actually  could!  And  I  saw  he  meant  to  stay  to 
get  even  for  that  ammonia — and,  oh,  I  worked  so 
hard  to  make  him  think  I  wanted  him  to  go  !  Mam- 
ma, mamma,  if  you  could  have  seen  that  walk! 
That  goose  kept  thinking  he  could  wear  Penrod  out 


256  PENROD  AND  SAM 

or  drop  him  behind,  but  I  knew  he  couldn't  so  long 
as  Penrod  believed  he  was  worrying  us  and  getting 
even.  And  that  goose  thought  I  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  Penrod,  too;  and  the  conceited  thing  said  it  would 
turn  out  'gloriously,'  meaning  we'd  be  alone  together 
pretty  soon — I'd  like  to  shake  him!  You  see,  I 
pretended  so  well,  in  order  to  make  Penrod  stick  to 
us,  that  goose  believed  I  meant  it!  And  if  he  hadn't 
tried  to  walk  Penrod  off  his  legs,  he  wouldn't  have 
wilted  his  own  collar  and  worn  himself  out,  and  I 
think  he'd  have  hung  on  until  you'd  have  had  to 
invite  him  to  stay  to  supper,  and  he'd  have  stayed 
on  all  evening,  and  I  wouldn't  have  had  a  chance  to 
write  to  Robert  Williams.  Mamma,  there  have 
been  lots  of  times  when  I  haven't  been  thankful 
for  Penrod,  but  to-day  I  could  have  got  down  on  my 
knees  to  you  and  papa  for  giving  me  such  a  brother ! " 

In  the  darkness  of  the  hall,  as  a  small  but  crushed 
and  broken  form  stole  away  from  the  crack  in  the 
door,  a  gigantic  Eye  seemed  to  form — seemed  to  glare 
down  upon  Penrod — warning  him  that  the  way  of 
vengeance  is  the  way  of  bafflement,  and  that  genius 
may  not  prevail  against  the  trickeries  of  women. 

"This  has  been  a  nice  day!"  Penrod  muttered 
hoarsely. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ON   ACCOUNT  OF   THE   WEATHER 


f  •  "\HERE  is  no  boredom  (not  even  an  invalid's) 
comparable  to  that  of  a  boy  who  has  noth- 

•*•  ing  to  do.  When  a  man  says  he  has 
nothing  to  do,  he  speaks  idly;  there  is  always  more 
than  he  can  do.  Grown  women  never  say  they  have 
nothing  to  do,  and  when  girls  or  little  girls  say  they 
have  nothing  to  do,  they  are  merely  airing  an  af- 
fectation. But  when  a  boy  has  nothing  to  do,  he 
has  actually  nothing  at  all  to  do;  his  state  is  pathetic, 
and  when  he  complains  of  it,  his  voice  is  haunting. 

Mrs.  Schofield  was  troubled  by  this  uncomfort- 
able quality  in  the  voice  of  her  son,  who  came  to 
her  thrice,  in  his  search  for  entertainment  or  even 
employment,  one  Saturday  afternoon  during  the 
February  thaw.  Few  facts  are  better  established 
than  that  the  February  thaw  is  the  poorest  time  of 
year  for  everybody.  But  for  a  boy  it  is  worse  than 
poorest;  it  is  bankrupt.  The  remnant  streaks  of 
old  soot-speckled  snow  left  against  the  north  walls 

257 


258  PENROD  AND  SAM 

of  houses  have  no  power  to  inspire;  rather,  they 
are  dreary  reminders  of  sports  long  since  carried  to 
satiety.  One  cares  little  even  to  eat  such  snow,  and 
the  eating  of  icicles,  also,  has  come  to  be  a  flaccid  and 
stale  diversion.  There  is  no  ice  to  bear  a  skate; 
there  is  only  a  vast  sufficiency  of  cold  mud,  practi- 
cally useless.  Sunshine  flickers  shiftily,  coming  and 
going  without  any  honest  purpose;  snow-squalls 
blow  for  five  minutes,  the  flakes  disappearing  as 
they  touch  the  earth;  half  an  hour  later  rain  sputters, 
turns  to  snow,  and  then  turns  back  to  rain — and  the 
sun  disingenuously  beams  out  again,  only  to  be  shut 
off  like  a  rogue's  lantern.  And  all  the  wretched 
while,  if  a  boy  sets  foot  out  of  doors,  he  must  be 
harassed  about  his  overcoat  and  rubbers;  he  is 
warned  against  tracking  up  the  plastic  lawn  and 
sharply  advised  to  stay  inside  the  house.  Saturday 
might  as  well  be  Sunday. 

Thus  the  season.  Penrod  had  sought  all  possible 
means  to  pass  the  time.  A  full  half-hour  of  vehe- 
ment yodelling  in  the  Williams's  yard  had  failed  to 
bring  forth  comrade  Sam;  and  at  last  a  coloured 
woman  had  opened  a  window  to  inform  Penrod 
that  her  intellect  was  being  unseated  by  his  vocal- 
izations, which  surpassed  in  unpleasantness,  she 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER  259 

claimed,  every  sound  in  her  previous  experience — 
and,  for  the  sake  of  definiteness,  she  stated  her  age 
to  be  fifty-three  years  and  four  months.  She  added 
that  all  members  of  the  Williams  family  had  gone 
out  of  town  to  attend  the  funeral  of  a  relative,  but 
she  wished  that  they  might  have  remained  to  attend 
Penrod's,  which  she  confidently  predicted  as  im- 
minent if  the  neighbourhood  followed  its  natural 
impulse. 

Penrod  listened  for  a  time,  but  departed  before 
the  conclusion  of  the  oration.  He  sought  other 
comrades,  with  no  success;  he  even  went  to  the 
length  of  yodelling  in  the  yard  of  that  best  of  boys, 
Georgie  Bassett.  Here  was  failure  again,  for  Georgie 
signalled  to  him,  through  a  closed  window,  that  a 
closeting  with  dramatic  literature  was  preferable  to 
the  society  of  a  playmate;  and  the  book  which 
Georgie  exhibited  was  openly  labelled,  "300  Choice 
Declamations."  Georgie  also  managed  to  convey 
another  reason  for  his  refusal  of  Penrod's  companion- 
ship, the  visitor  being  conversant  with  lip-reading 
through  his  studies  at  the  "movies." 

"  Too  muddy  1" 

Penrod  went  home. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield,  having  almost  ex- 


260  PENROD  AND  SAM 

hausted  a  mother's  powers  of  suggestion,  "well, 
why  don't  you  give  Duke  a  bath?"  She  was  that 
far  depleted  when  Penrod  came  to  her  the  third 
time. 

Mothers'  suggestions  are  wonderful  for  little 
children  but  sometimes  lack  lustre  when  a  boy  is 
about  twelve — an  age  to  which  the  ideas  of  a  Swede 
farm-hand  would  usually  prove  more  congenial. 
However,  the  dim  and  melancholy  eye  of  Penrod 
showed  a  pale  gleam,  and  he  departed.  He  gave 
Duke  a  bath. 

The  entertainment  proved  damp  and  discouraging 
for  both  parties.  Duke  began  to  tremble  even  be- 
fore he  was  lifted  into  the  water,  and  after  his  first 
immersion  he  was  revealed  to  be  a  dog  weighing 
about  one-fourth  of  what  an  observer  of  Duke,  when 
Duke  was  dry,  must  have  guessed  his  weight  to 
be.  His  wetness  and  the  disclosure  of  his  extreme 
fleshly  insignificance  appeared  to  mortify  him  pro- 
foundly. He  wept.  But,  presently,  under  Penrod's 
thorough  ministrations — for  the  young  master  was 
inclined  to  make  this  bath  last  as  long  as  possible- 
Duke  plucked  up  a  heart  and  began  a  series  of  pas- 
sionate attempts  to  close  the  interview.  As  this 
was  his  first  bath  since  September,  the  effects  were 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER  261 

lavish  and  impressionistic,  both  upon  Penrod  and 
upon  the  bathroom.  However,  the  imperious  boy's 
loud  remonstrances  contributed  to  bring  about  the 
result  desired  by  Duke. 

Mrs.  Schofield  came  running,  and  eloquently  put 
an  end  to  Duke's  winter  bath.  When  she  had  sug- 
gested this  cleansing  as  a  pleasant  means  of  passing 
the  time,  she  assumed  that  it  would  take  place  in  a 
washtub  in  the  cellar;  and  Penrod's  location  of  the 
performance  in  her  own  bathroom  was  far  from  her 
intention. 

Penrod  found  her  language  oppressive,  and,  hav- 
ing been  denied  the  right  to  rub  Duke  dry  with  a 
bath-towel — or  even  with  the  cover  of  a  table  in  the 
next  room — the  dismal  boy,  accompanied  by  his 
dismal  dog,  set  forth,  by  way  of  the  kitchen  door, 
into  the  dismal  weather.  With  no  purpose  in  mind, 
they  mechanically  went  out  to  the  alley,  where 
Penrod  leaned  morosely  against  the  fence,  and  Duke 
stood  shivering  close  by,  his  figure  still  emaciated 
and  his  tail  absolutely  withdrawn  from  view. 

There  was  a  cold,  wet  wind,  however;  and  before 
long  Duke  found  his  condition  unendurable.  He  was 
past  middle  age  and  cared  little  for  exercise,  but 
he  saw  that  something  must  be  done.  Therefore, 


262  PENROD  AND  SAM 

he  made  a  vigorous  attempt  to  dry  himself  in  a 
dog's  way.  Throwing  himself,  shoulders  first, 
upon  the  alley  mud,  he  slid  upon  it,  back  downward; 
he  rolled  and  rolled1  and  rolled.  He  began  to  feel 
lively  and  rolled  the  more;  in  every  way  he  convinced 
Penrod  that  dogs  have  no  regard  for  appearances. 
Also,  having  discovered  an  ex-fish  near  the  Herman 
and  Verman  cottage,  Duke  confirmed  an  impres- 
sion of  Penrod's  that  dogs  have  a  peculiar  fancy  in 
the  matter  of  odours  which  they  like  to  wear. 

Growing  livelier  and  livelier,  Duke  now  wished  to 
play  with  his  master.  Penrod  was  anything  but 
fastidious;  nevertheless,  under  the  circumstances, 
he  withdrew  to  the  kitchen,  leaving  Duke  to  play 
by  himself,  outside. 

Delia,  the  cook,  was  comfortably  making  rolls 
and  entertaining  a  caller  with  a  cup  of  tea.  Penrod 
lingered  a  few  moments,  but  found  even  his  atten- 
tion to  the  conversation  ill  received,  while  his  at- 
tempts to  take  part  in  it  met  outright  rebuff.  His 
feelings  were  hurt;  he  passed  broodingly  to  the  front 
part  of  the  house,  and  flung  himself  wearily  into  an 
armchair  in  the  library.  With  glazed  eyes  he  stared 
at  shelves  of  books  that  meant  to  him  just  what 
the  wall-paper  meant,  and  he  sighed  from  the 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER  263 

abyss.  His  legs  tossed  and  his  arms  flopped;  he  got 
up,  scratched  himself  exhaustively,  and  shuffled  to  a 
window.  Ten  desolate  minutes  he  stood  there, 
gazing  out  sluggishly  upon  a  soggy  world.  During 
this  time  two  wet  delivery-wagons  and  four  elderly 
women  under  umbrellas  were  all  that  crossed  his 
field  of  vision.  Somewhere  in  the  world,  he  thought, 
there  was  probably  a  boy  who  lived  across  the  street 
from  a  jail  or  a  fire-engine  house,  and  had  windows 
worth  looking  out  of.  Penrod  rubbed  his  nose  up 
and  down  the  pane  slowly,  continuously,  and  with- 
out the  slightest  pleasure;  and  he  again  scratched 
himself  wherever  it  was  possible  to  do  so,  though, 
he  did  not  even  itch.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
life. 

Such  boredom  as  he  was  suffering  can  become 
agony,  and  an  imaginative  creature  may  do  wild 
things  to  escape  it;  many  a  grown  person  has  taken 
to  drink  on  account  of  less  pressure  than  was  upon 
Penrod  during  that  intolerable  Saturday. 

A  faint  sound  in  his  ear  informed  him  that  Delia, 
in  the  kitchen,  had  uttered  a  loud  exclamation,  and 
he  decided  to  go  back  there.  However,  since  his 
former  visit  had  resulted  in  a  rebuff  that  still  ran- 
kled, he  paused  outside  the  kitchen  door,  which  was 


264  PENROD  AND  SAM 

slightly  ajar,  and  listened.  He  did  this  idly,  and 
with  no  hope  of  hearing  anything  interesting  or 
helpful. 

"  Snakes ! "  Delia  exclaimed.  "  Didja  say  the  poor 
man  was  seein'  snakes,  Mrs.  Cullen?" 

"No,  Delia,"  Mrs  Cullen  returned  dolorously; 
"jist  one.  Flora  says  he  niver  see  more  th'n  one — 
jist  one  big,  long,  ugly-faced  horr'ble  black  one;  the 
same  one  comin'  back  an'  makin'  a  fizzin'  n'ise  at 
um  iv'ry  time  he  had  the  fit  on  um.  'Twas  alw'ys 
the  same  snake;  an'  he'd  holler  at  Flora.  'Here  it 
comes  ag'in,  oh,  me  soul!'  he'd  holler.  'The  big, 
black,  ugly-faced  thing;  it's  as  long  as  the  front 
fence!'  he'd  holler,  'an'  it's  makin'  a  fizzin'  n'ise  at 
me,  an'  breathin*  in  me  face!'  he'd  holler.  'Fer  th' 
love  o'  hivin',  Flora,'  he'd  holler,  'it's  got  a  little 
black  man  wit'  a  gassly  white  forehead  a-pokin'  of 
it  along  wit'  a  broom-handle,  an'  a-sickin'  it  on  me, 
the  same  as  a  boy  sicks  a  dog  on  a  poor  cat.  Fer 
the  love  o'  hivin',  Flora,'  he'd  holler,  'cantcha  fright 
it  away  from  me  before  I  go  out  o'  me  head?' 

"Poor  Tom!"  said  Delia  with  deep  compassion. 
"An'  the  poor  man  out  of  his  head  all  the  time,  an' 
not  knowin'  it!  'Twas  awful  fer  Flora  to  sit  there 
an'  hear  such  things  in  the  night  like  that!" 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER    265 

"You  may  believe  yerself  whin  ye  say  it!"  Mrs. 
Cullen  agreed.  "Right  the  very  night  the  poor  soul 
died,  he  was  hollerin'  how  the  big  black  snake  and  the 
little  black  man  wit'  the  gassly  white  forehead  a- 
pokin'  it  wit'  a  broomstick  had  come  fer  um.  'Fright 
'em  away,  Flora!'  he  was  croakin',  in  a  v'ice  that 
hoarse  an'  husky  'twas  hard  to  make  out  what  he 
says.  'Fright  'em  away,  Flora!'  he  says.  "Tis  the 
big,  black,  ugly-faced  snake,  as  black  as  a  black 
stockin'  an'  thicker  round  than  me  leg  at  the  thigh 
before  I  was  wasted  away!'  he  says,  poor  man.  'It's 
makin'  the  fizzin'  n'ise  awful  to-night,'  he  says. 
'An'  the  little  black  man  wit'  the  gassly  white  fore- 
head is  a-laughin','  he  says.  'He's  a-laughin'  an' 
a-pokin'  the  big,  black,  fizzin,'  ugly-faced  snake  wit' 
his  broomstick ' ' 

Delia  was  unable  to  endure  the  description. 

"Don't  tell  me  no  more,  Mrs.  Cullen!"  she  pro- 
tested. "Poor  Tom!  I  thought  Flora  was  wrong 
last  week  whin  she  hid  the  whisky.  'Twas  takin' 
it  away  from  him  that  killed  him — an'  him  already 
so  sick!" 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen,  "he  hardly  had  the 
strengt'  to  drink  much,  she  tells  me,  after  he  see  the 
big  snake  an'  the  little  black  divil  the  first  time. 


266  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Poor  woman,  she  says  he  talked  so  plain  she  sees 
'em  both  herself,  iv'ry  time  she  looks  at  the  poor  body 
where  it's  laid  out.  She  says " 

"Don't  tell  me!"  cried  the  impressionable  Delia. 
"Don't  tell  me,  Mrs.  Cullen!  I  can  most  see  'em 
meself,  right  here  in  me  own  kitchen!  Poor  Tom! 
To  think  whin  I  bought  me  new  hat,  only  last  week, 
the  first  time  I'd  be  wearin'  it'd  be  to  his  funeral. 
To-morrow  afternoon,  it  is?" 

"At  two  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen.  "Ye'll  be 
comin'  to  th'  house  to-night,  o'  course,  Delia?" 

"I  will,"  said  Delia.  "After  what  I've  been 
hearin'  from  ye,  I'm  most  afraid  to  come,  but  I'll  do 
it.  Poor  Tom!  I  remember  the  day  him  an'  Flora 
WSLS  married " 

But  the  eavesdropper  heard  no  more;  he  was  on  his 
way  up  the  back  stairs.  Life  and  light — and  pur- 
pose— had  come  to  his  face  once  more. 

Margaret  was  out  for  the  afternoon.  Unostenta- 
tiously, he  went  to  her  room,  and  for  the  next  few 
minutes  occupied  himself  busily  therein.  He  was  so 
quiet  that  his  mother,  sewing  in  her  own  room,  would 
not  have  heard  him  except  for  the  obstinacy  of  one 
of  the  drawers  in  Margaret's  bureau.  Mrs.  Scho- 
field  went  to  the  door  of  her  daughter's  room. 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER  267 

"What  are  you  doing,  Penrod?" 

"Nothin'." 

"You're  not  disturbing  any  of  Margaret's  things, 
are  you?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  the  meek  lad. 

"What  did  you  jerk  that  drawer  open  for?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"You  heard  me,  Penrod." 

"Yes,  ma'am.     I  was  just  lookin'  for  sumpthing." 

"For  what?"  Mrs  Schofield  asked.  "You  know 
that  nothing  of  yours  would  be  in  Margaret's  room, 
Penrod,  don't  you?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"What  was  it  you  wanted?"  she  asked,  rather  im- 
patiently. 

"I  was  just  lookin'  for  some  pins." 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  and  handed  him  two  from 
the  shoulder  of  her  blouse. 

"I  ought  to  have  more,"  he  said.  "I  want  about 
forty." 

"What  for?" 

"I  just  want  to  make  sumpthing,  mamma,"  he 
said  plaintively.  "My  goodness!  Can't  I  even 
want  to  have  a  few  pins  without  everybody  makin' 
such  a  fuss  about  it  you'd  think  I  was  doin'  a  srime!" 


268  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Doing  a  what,  Penrod?" 

"A  srime!"  he  repeated,  with  emphasis;  and  a 
moment's  reflection  enlightened  his  mother. 

"Oh,  a  crime!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  must  quit 
reading  the  murder  trials  in  the  newspapers,  Penrod. 
And  when  you  read  words  you  don't  know  how  to 
pronounce  you  ought  to  ask  either  your  papa  or  me." 

"Well,  I  am  askin'  you  about  sumpthing  now," 
said  Penrod.  "  Can't  I  even  have  a  few  pins  without 
stoppin'  to  talk  about  everything  in  the  newspapers, 
mamma?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  laughing  at  his  seriousness;  and 
she  took  him  to  her  room,  and  bestowed  upon  him 
five  or  six  rows  torn  from  a  paper  of  pins.  "That 
ought  to  be  plenty,"  she  said,  "whatever  you  want 
to  make." 

And  she  smiled  after  his  retreating  figure,  not 
noting  that  he  looked  softly  bulky  around  the  body, 
and  held  his  elbows  unnaturally  tight  to  his  sides. 
She  was  assured  of  the  innocence  of  anything  to  be 
made  with  pins,  and  forebore  to  press  investigation. 
For  Penrod  to  be  playing  with  pins  seemed  almost 
girlish.  Unhappy  woman,  it  pleased  her  to  have  her 
son  seem  girlish! 

Penrod  went  out  to  the  stable,  tossed  his  pins  into 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WEATHER  269 

the  wheelbarrow,  then  took  from  his  pocket  and  un- 
folded six  pairs  of  long  black  stockings,  indubitably 
the  property  of  his  sister.  (Evidently  Mrs.  Scho- 
field  had  been  a  little  late  in  making  her  appearance 
at  the  door  of  Margaret's  room.) 

Penrod  worked  systematically;  he  hung  the  twelve 
stockings  over  the  sides  of  the  wheelbarrow,  and 
placed  the  wheelbarrow  beside  a  large  packing-box 
which  was  half  full  of  excelsior.  One  after  another, 
he  stuffed  the  stockings  with  excelsior,  till  they 
looked  like  twelve  long  black  sausages.  Then  he 
pinned  the  top  of  one  stocking  securely  over  the 
stuffed  foot  of  another,  pinning  the  top  of  a  third 
to  the  foot  of  the  second,  the  top  of  a  fourth  to  the 
foot  of  the  third — and  continued  operations  in  this 
fashion  until  the  twelve  stockings  were  the  semblance 
of  one  long  and  sinuous  black  body,  sufficiently  sug- 
gestive to  any  normal  eye. 

He  tied  a  string  to  one  end  of  this  unpleasant- 
looking  thing,  led  it  around  the  stable,  and,  by 
vigorous  manipulations,  succeeded  in  making  it 
wriggle  realistically;  but  he  was  not  satisfied,  and, 
dropping  the  string  listlessly,  sat  down  in  the  wheel- 
barrow to  ponder.  Penrod  sometimes  proved  that 
there  were  within  him  the  makings  of  an  artist; 


270  PENROD  AND  SAM 

he  had  become  fascinated  by  an  idea,  and  could  not  be 
content  until  that  idea  was  beautifully  realized.  He 
had  meant  to  create  a  big,  long,  ugly-faced  horrible 
black  snake  with  which  to  interest  Delia  and  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Cullen;  but  he  felt  that  results,  so  far, 
were  too  crude  for  exploitation.  Merely  to  lead  the 
pinned  stockings  by  a  string  was  little  to  fulfill  his 
ambitious  vision. 

Finally,  he  rose  from  the  wheelbarrow. 

"If  I  only  had  a  cat!"  he  said  dreamily. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CREATIVE  ART 

HE  WENT  forth,  seeking. 
The  Schofield  household  was  catless  this 
winter,  but  there  was  a  nice  white  cat  at 
the  Williams'.     Penrod  strolled  thoughtfully  orer  to 
the  Williams'  yard. 

He  was  entirely  successful,  not  even  having  been 
seen  by  the  sensitive  coloured  woman,  aged  fifty- 
three  years  and  four  months. 

But  still  Penrod  was  thoughtful.  The  artist  within 
him  was  unsatisfied  with  his  materials:  and  upon  his 
return  to  the  stable  he  placed  the  cat  beneath  an 
overturned  box,  and  once  more  sat  down  in  the 
inspiring  wheelbarrow,  pondering.  His  expression, 
concentrated  and  yet  a  little  anxious,  was  like  that 
of  a  painter  at  work  upon  a  portrait  which  may  or 
may  not  turn  out  to  be  a  masterpiece.  The  cat  did 
not  disturb  him  by  her  purring,  though  she  was,  in- 
deed, already  purring.  She  was  one  of  those  cozy, 
youngish  cats — plump,  even  a  little  full-bodied,  per- 

271 


272  PENROD  AND  SAM 

haps,  and  rather  conscious  of  the  figure — that  are 
entirely  conventional  and  domestic  by  nature,  and 
will  set  up  a  ladylike  housekeeping  anywhere  without 
making  a  fuss  about  it.  If  there  were  a  fault  in 
these  cats,  overcomplacency  might  be  the  name  for 
it;  they  are  a  shade  too  sure  of  themselves,  and  their 
assumption  that  the  world  means  to  treat  them  re- 
spectfully has  just  a  little  taint  of  the  grande  dame. 
Consequently,  they  are  liable  to  great  outbreaks 
of  nervous  energy  from  within,  engendered  by  the 
extreme  surprises  which  life  sometimes  holds  in  store 
for  them.  They  lack  the  pessimistic  imagination. 

Mrs.  Williams'  cat  was  content  upon  a  strange 
floor  and  in  the  confining  enclosure  of  a  strange  box. 
She  purred  for  a  time,  then  trustfully  fell  asleep. 
'Twas  well  she  slumbered;  she  would  need  all  her 
powers  presently. 

She  slumbered,  and  dreamed  not  that  she  would 
wake  to  mingle  with  events  which  were  to  alter  her 
serene  disposition  radically,  and  cause  her  to  become 
hasty-tempered  and  abnormally  suspicious  for  the 
rest  of  her  life. 

Meanwhile,  Penrod  appeared  to  reach  a  doubtful 
solution  of  his  problem.  His  expression  was  still 
somewhat  clouded  as  he  brought  from  the  storeroom 


CREATIVE  ART  273 

of  the  stable  a  small  fragment  of  a  broken  mirror,  two 
paint  brushes,  and  two  old  cans,  one  containing 
black  paint  and  the  other  white.  He  regarded  him- 
self earnestly  in  the  mirror;  then,  with  some  reluc- 
tance, he  dipped  a  brush  into  one  of  the  cans,  and 
slowly  painted  his  nose  a  midnight  black.  He  was 
on  the  point  of  spreading  this  decoration  to  cover 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  when  he  paused,  brush 
halfway  between  can  and  chin. 

What  arrested  him  was  a  sound  from  the  alley — a 
sound  of  drumming  upon  tin.  The  eyes  of  Penrod 
became  significant  of  rushing  thoughts;  his  expres- 
sion cleared  and  brightened.  He  ran  to  the  alley 
doors  and  flung  them  open. 

"Oh,  Verman!"  he  shouted. 

Marching  up  and  down  before  the  cottage  across 
the  alley,  Verman  plainly  considered  himself  to  be 
an  army.  Hanging  from  his  shoulders  by  a  string 
was  an  old  tin  wash-basin,  whereon  he  beat  cheerily 
with  two  dry  bones,  once  the  chief  supports  of  a 
chicken.  Thus  he  assuaged  his  ennui. 

"Verman,  come  on  in  here,"  Penrod  called.  "I 
got  sumpthing  for  you  to  do  you'll  like  awful  well." 

Verman  halted,  ceased  to  drum,  and  stared.  His 
gaze  was  not  fixed  particularly  upon  Penrod's  nose, 


274  PENROD  AND  SAM 

however,  and  neither  now  nor  later  did  he  make  any 
remark  or  gesture  referring  to  this  casual  eccentricity. 
He  expected  things  like  that  upon  Penrod  or  Sam 
Williams.  And  as  for  Penrod  himself,  he  had  already 
forgotten  that  his  nose  was  painted. 

"Come  on,  Verman!" 

Verman  continued  to  stare,  not  moving.  He  had 
received  such  invitations  before,  and  they  had  not 
always  resulted  to  his  advantage.  Within  that 
stable  things  had  happened  to  him  the  like  of  which 
he  was  anxious  to  avoid  in  the  future. 

"Oh,  come  ahead,  Verman!"  Penrod  urged,  and, 
divining  logic  in  the  reluctance  confronting  him,  he 
added,  "This  ain't  goin'  to  be  anything  like  last  time, 
Verman.  I  got  sumpthing  just  splendud  for  you  to 
do!" 

Verman's  expression  hardened;  he  shook  his  head 
decisively. 

"Mo,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  come  on,  Verman?"  Penrod  pleaded.  "It 
isn't  anything  goin'  to  hurt  you,  is  it?  I  tell  you 
it's  sumpthing  you'd  give  a  good  deal  to  get  to  do, 
if  you  knew  what  it  is." 

"  Mo ! "  said  Verman  firmly.     "  I  mome  maw  woo ! " 

Penrod  offered  arguments. 


CREATIVE  ART  275 

"  Look,  Verman ! "  he  said.  "  Listen  here  a  minute, 
can't  you?  How  d'you  know  you  don't  want  to 
until  you  know  what  it  is?  A  person  can't  know  they 
don't  want  to  do  a  thing  even  before  the  other  person 
tells  'em  what  they're  goin'  to  get  'em  to  do,  can 
they?  For  all  you  know,  this  thing  I'm  goin'  to  get 
you  to  do  might  be  sumpthing  you  wouldn't  miss 
doin'  for  anything  there  is !  For  all  you  know,  Ver- 
man, it  might  be  sumpthing  like  this:  well,  f'rin- 
stance,  s'pose  I  was  standin'  here,  and  you  were  over 
there,  sort  of  like  the  way  you  are  now,  and  I  says, 
'Hello,  Verman!'  and  then  I'd  go  on  and  tell  you 
there  was  sumpthing  I  was  goin'  to  get  j  or.  to  do;  and 
you'd  say  you  wouldn't  do  it,  even  before  you  heard 
what  it  was,  why  where'd  be  any  sense  to  that  ?  For 
all  you  know,  I  might  of  been  goin'  to  get  you  to  eat 
a  five-cent  bag  o'  peanuts." 

Verman  had  listened  obdurately  until  he  heard  the 
last  few  words,  but  as  they  fell  upon  his  ear,  he  re- 
laxed, and  advanced  to  the  stable  doors,  smiling  and 
extending  his  open  right  hand. 

"Aw  wiV  he  said.     " Gi'm  here." 

"Well,"  Penrod  returned,  a  trifle  embarrassed, 
"I  didn't  say  it  was  peanuts,  did  I?  Honest,  Ver- 
man, it's  sumpthing  you'll  like  better'n  a  few  old 


276  PENROD  AND  SAM 

peanuts  that  most  of  'em'd  prob'ly  have  worms  in 
'em,  anyway.  All  I  want  you  to  do  is " 

But  Verman  was  not  favourably  impressed;  his 
face  hardened  again. 

"Mo!"  he  said,  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"Look  here,  Verman,"  Penrod  urged.  "It  isn't 
goin'  to  hurt  you  just  to  come  in  here  and  see  what 
I  got  for  you,  is  it?  You  can  do  that  much,  can't 

you?" 

Surely  such  an  appeal  must  have  appeared  reason- 
able, even  to  Verman,  especially  since  its  effect  was 
aided  by  the  promising  words,  "See  what  I  got  for 
you."  Certainly  Verman  yielded  to  it,  though  per- 
haps a  little  suspiciously.  He  advanced  a  few  cau- 
tious steps  into  the  stable. 

"Look!"  Penrod  cried,  and  he  ran  to  the  stuffed 
and  linked  stockings,  seized  the  leading-string,  and 
vigorously  illustrated  his  further  remarks.  "How's 
that  for  a  big,  long,  ugly-faced  horr'ble  black  ole 
snake,  Verman?  Look  at  her  follow  me  all  round 
anywhere  I  feel  like  goin' !  Look  at  her  wiggle,  will 
you,  though?  Look  how  I  make  her  do  anything  I 
tell  her  to.  Lay  down,  you  ole  snake,  you!  See  her 
lay  down  when  I  tell  her  to,  Verman?  Wiggle, 
you  ole  snake,  you!  See  her  wiggle,  Verman?" 


CREATIVE  ART  277 

"Hi!"     Undoubtedly  Verman  felt  some  pleasure. 

"Now,  listen,  Verman!"  Penrod  continued,  hasten- 
ing to  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  "Listen! 
I  fixed  up  this  good  ole  snake  just  for  you.  I'm 
goin'  to  give  her  to  you." 

"JK/" 

On  account  of  a  previous  experience  not  uncon- 
nected with  cats,  and  likely  to  prejudice  Verman, 
Penrod  decided  to  postpone  mentioning  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams' pet  until  he  should  have  secured  Verman's 
cooperation  in  the  enterprise  irretrievably. 

"All  you  got  to  do,"  he  went  on,  "is  to  chase  this 
good  ole  snake  around,  and  sort  o'  laugh  and  keep 
pokin'  it  with  the  handle  o5  that  rake  yonder.  I'm 
goin'  to  saw  it  off  just  so's  you  can  poke  your  good 
ole  snake  with  it,  Verman." 

"Aw  wi',"  said  Verman,  and  extending  his  open 
hand  again,  he  uttered  a  hopeful  request. 

"Peamup?" 

His  host  perceived  that  Verman  had  misunderstood 
him.  "Peanuts!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  goodness! 
I  didn't  say  I  had  any  peanuts,  did  I?  I  only  said 
s'pose  f'rinstance  I  did  have  some.  My  goodness! 
You  don't  expeck  me  to  go  round  here  all  day  workin' 
like  a  dog  to  make  a  good  ole  snake  for  you  and  then 


278  PENROD  AND  SAM 

give  you  a  bag  o'  peanuts  to  hire  you  to  play  with  it, 
do  you,  Verman?  My  goodness!" 

Verman's  hand  fell,  with  a  little  disappointment. 

"Aw  wi',"  he  said,  consenting  to  accept  the  snake 
without  the  bonus. 

"That's  the  boy!  Now  we're  all  right,  Verman; 
and  pretty  soon  I'm  goin'  to  saw  that  rake-handle  off 
for  you,  too;  so's  you  can  kind  o'  guide  your  good 
ole  snake  around  with  it;  but  first — well,  first  there's 
just  one  more  thing's  got  to  be  done.  I'll  show  you — 
it  won't  take  but  a  minute."  Then,  while  Verman 
watched  him  wonderingly,  he  went  to  the  can  of 
white  paint  and  dipped  a  brush  therein.  "It  won't 
get  on  your  clo'es  much,  or  anything,  Verman,"  he 
explained.  "I  only  just  got  to " 

But  as  he  approached,  dripping  brush  in  hand,  the 
wondering  look  was  all  gone  from  Verman;  deter- 
mination took  its  place. 

"Mo!"  he  said,  turned  his  back,  and  started  for 
outdoors. 

"Look  here,  Verman,"  Penrod  cried.  "I  haven't 
done  anything  to  you  yet,  have  I?  It  isn't  goin' 
to  hurt  you,  is  it?  You  act  like  a  little  teeny  bit  o' 
paint  was  goin'  to  kill  you!  What's  the  matter  of 
you?  I  only  just  got  to  paint  the  top  part  of  your 


CREATIVE  ART  279 

face;  I'm  not  goin'  to  touch  the  other  part  of  it — nor 
your  hands  or  anything.  All  I  want " 

"Mo!"  said  Verman  from  the  doorway. 

"Oh,  my  goodness!"  moaned  Penrod;  and  in  des- 
peration he  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  his  entire 
fortune.  "All  right,  Verman,"  he  said  resignedly. 
"If  you  won't  do  it  any  other  way,  here's  a  nickel, 
and  you  can  go  and  buy  you  some  peanuts  when  we 
get  through.  But  if  I  give  you  this  money,  you  got 
to  promise  to  wait  till  we  are  through,  and  you 
got  to  promise  to  do  anything  I  tell  you  to.  You 
goin'  to  promise?" 

The  eyes  of  Verman  glistened;  he  returned,  gave 
bond,  and,  grasping  the  coin,  burst  into  the  rich 
laughter  of  a  gourmand. 

Penrod  immediately  painted  him  dead  white  above 
the  eyes,  all  round  his  head  and  including  his  hair. 
It  took  all  the  paint  in  the  can. 

Then  the  artist  mentioned  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Williams'  cat,  explained  in  full  his  ideas  concerning 
the  docile  animal,  and  the  long  black  snake,  and 
Delia  and  her  friend,  Mrs.  Cullen,  while  Verman 
listened  with  anxiety,  but  remained  true  to  his  oath. 

They  removed  the  stocking  at  the  end  of  the  long 
black  snake,  and  cut  four  holes  in  the  foot  and  ankle 


280  PENROD  AND  SAM 

of  it.  They  removed  the  excelsior,  placed  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams' cat  in  the  stocking,  shook  her  down  into  the 
lower  section  of  it;  drew  her  feet  through  the  four 
holes  there,  leaving  her  head  in  the  toe  of  the  stock- 
ing; then  packed  the  excelsior  down  on  top  of  her, 
and  once  more  attached  the  stocking  to  the  rest  of 
the  long,  black  snake. 

How  shameful  is  the  ease  of  the  historian!  He 
sits  in  his  dressing-gown  to  write:  "The  enemy  at- 
tacked in  force The  tranquil  pen,  moving  in  a 

cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  leaves  upon  the  page  its 
little  hieroglyphics,  serenely  summing  up  the  mon- 
strous deeds  and  sufferings  of  men  of  action.  How 
cold,  how  niggardly,  to  state  merely  that  Penrod  and 
the  painted  Verman  succeeded  in  giving  the  long, 
black  snake  a  motive  power,  or  tractor,  apparently 
its  own  but  consisting  of  Mrs.  Williams'  cat! 

She  was  drowsy  when  they  lifted  the  box;  she  was 
still  drowsy  when  they  introduced  part  of  her  into 
the  orifice  of  the  stocking;  but  she  woke  to  full, 
vigorous  young  life  when  she  perceived  that  then* 
purpose  was  for  her  to  descend  into  the  black  depths 
of  that  stocking  head  first. 

Verman  held  the  mouth  of  the  stocking  stretched, 
and  Penrod  manipulated  the  cat;  but  she  left  her 


CREATIVE  ART  281 

hearty  mark  on  both  of  them  before,  in  a  moment  of 
unfortunate  inspiration,  she  humped  her  back  while 
she  was  upside  down,  and  Penrod  took  advantage 
of  the  concavity  to  increase  it  even  more  than  she 
desired.  The  next  instant  she  was  assisted  down- 
ward into  the  gloomy  interior,  with  excelsior  already 
beginning  to  block  the  means  of  egress. 

Gymnastic  moments  followed;  there  were  times 
when  both  boys  hurled  themselves  full-length  upon 
the  floor,  seizing  the  animated  stocking  with  far- 
extended  hands;  and  even  when  the  snake  was  a 
complete  thing,  with  legs  growing  from  its  unques- 
tionably ugly  face,  either  Penrod  or  Verman  must 
keep  a  grasp  upon  it,  for  it  would  not  be  soothed, 
and  refused,  over  and  over,  to  calm  itself,  even  when 
addressed  as,  "Poor  pussy! "  and  "  Nice  'ittle  kitty!" 

Finally,  they  thought  they  had  their  good  ole 
snake  "about  quieted  down,"  as  Penrod  said,  be- 
cause the  animated  head  had  remained  in  one  place 
for  an  unusual  length  of  time,  though  the  legs  pro- 
duced a  rather  sinister  effect  of  crouching,  and  a 
noise  like  a  distant  planing-mill  came  from  the  in- 
terior— and  then  Duke  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

He  was  still  feeling  lively. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   DEPARTING   GUEST 

B5f  THE  time  Penrod  returned  from  chasing 
Duke  to  the  next  corner,  Verman  had  the 
long,  black  snake  down  from  the  rafter  where 
its  active  head  had  taken  refuge,  with  the  rest  of  it 
dangling;  and  both  boys  agreed  that  Mrs.  Williams' 
cat  must  certainly  be  able  to  "see  some,  anyway," 
through  the  meshes  of  the  stocking. 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  "it's  gettin'  pretty  near 
dark,  what  with  all  this  bother  and  mess  we  been 
havin'  around  here,  and  I-expeck  as  soon  as  I  get 
this  good  ole  broom-handle  fixed  out  of  the  rake  for 
you,  Verman,  it'll  be  about  time  to  begin  what  we 
had  to  go  and  take  all  this  trouble /or." 

.  .  .  .  Mr.  Schofield  had  brought  an  old 
friend  home  to  dinner  with  him:  "Dear  old  Joe 
Gilling,"  he  called  this  friend  when  introducing  him 
to  Mrs.  Schofield.  Mr.  Gilling,  as  Mrs.  Schofield 
was  already  informed  by  telephone,  had  just  hap- 

282 


THE  DEPARTING  GUEST  283 

pened  to  turn  up  in  town  that  day,  and  had  called 
on  his  classmate  at  the  latter's  office.  The  two 
had  not  seen  each  other  in  eighteen  years. 

Mr.  Gilling  was  a  tall  man,  clad  highly  in  the 
mode,  and  brought  to  a  polished  and  powdered  finish 
by  barber  and  manicurist;  but  his  colour  was  pecu- 
liar, being  almost  unhumanly  florid,  and,  as  Mrs. 
Schofield  afterward  claimed  to  have  noticed,  his 
eyes  "wore  a  nervous,  apprehensive  look,"  his  hands 
were  tremulous,  and  his  manner  was  "queer  and 
jerky" — at  least,  that  is  how  she  defined  it. 

She  was  not  surprised  to  hear  him  state  that  he 
was  travelling  for  his  health  and  not  upon  business. 
He  had  not  been  really  well  for  several  years,  he 
said. 

At  that,  Mr.  Schofield  laughed  and  slapped  him 
heartily  on  the  back. 

"Oh,  mercy!"  cried  Mr.  Gilling,  leaping  in  his 
chair.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing!"  Mr.  Schofield  laughed.  "I  just 
slapped  you  the  way  we  used  to  slap  each  other  on 
the  campus.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  you 
have  no  business  being  a  bachelor.  With  all  your 
money,  and  nothing  to  do  but  travel  and  sit  around 
hotels  and  clubs,  no  wonder  you've  grown  bilious." 


284  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Oh,  no;  I'm  not  bilious,"  said  Mr.  Gilling  uncom- 
fortably. "I'm  not  bilious  at  all." 

"You  ought  to  get  married,"  Mr.  Schofield  re- 
turned. "You  ought —  He  paused,  for  Mr. 
Gilling  had  jumped  again.  "What's  the  trouble, 
Joe?" 

"Nothing.  I  thought  perhaps — perhaps  you  were 
going  to  slap  me  on  the  back  again." 

"Not  this  time,"  said  Mr.  Schofield,  renewing 
his  laughter.  "Well,  is  dinner  about  ready?"  he 
asked,  turning  to  his  wife.  "Where  are  Margaret 
andPenrod?" 

"Margaret's  just  come  in,"  Mrs.  Schofield  an- 
swered. "She'll  be  down  in  a  minute,  and  Penrod's 
around  somewhere." 

"Penrod?"  Mr.  Gilling  repeated  curiously,  in  his 
nervous,  serious  way.  "What  is  Penrod?" 

And  at  this  Mrs.  Schofield  joined  in  her  husband's 
laughter.  Mr.  Schcfield  explained. 

"Penrod's  our  young  son,"  he  said.  "He's  not 
much  for  looks,  maybe,  but  he's  been  pretty  good 
lately,  and  sometimes  we're  almost  inclined  to  be 
proud  of  him.  You'll  see  him  in  a  minute,  old 
Joe!" 

Old  Joe  saw  him  even  sooner.     Instantly,  as  Mr. 


THE  DEPARTING  GUEST  285 

Schofield  finished  his  little  prediction,  the  most 
shocking  uproar  ever  heard  in  that  house  burst  forth 
in  the  kitchen.  Distinctly  Irish  shrieks  unlimited 
came  from  that  quarter — together  with  the  clash- 
ing of  hurled  metal  and  tin,  the  appealing  sound  of 
breaking  china,  and  the  hysterical  barking  of  a  dog. 

The  library  door  flew  open,  and  Mrs.  Cullen  ap- 
peared as  a  mingled  streak  crossing  the  room  from 
one  door  to  the  other.  She  was  followed  by  a  boy 
with  a  coal-black  nose;  and  between  his  feet,  as  he 
entered,  there  appeared  a  big,  long,  black,  horr'ble 
snake,  with  frantic  legs  springing  from  what  appeared 
to  be  its  head;  and  it  further  fulfilled  Mrs.  Cullen's 
description  by  making  a  fizzin'  noise.  Accompany- 
ing the  snake,  and  still  faithfully  endeavouring  to 
guide  it  with  the  detached  handle  of  a  rake,  was  a 
small  black  demon  with  a  gassly  white  forehead  and 
gasslier  white  hair.  Duke,  evidently  still  feeling 
his  bath,  was  doing  all  in  his  power  to  aid  the  demon 
in  making  the  snake  step  lively.  A  few  kitchen  im- 
plements followed  this  fugitive  procession  through 
the  library  doorway. 

The  long,  black  snake  became  involved  with  a 
leg  of  the  heavy  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
The  head  developed  spasms  of  agility;  there  were 


£86  PENROD  AND  SAM 

cla wings  and  rippings;  then  the  foremost  section  of 
the  long,  black  snake  detached  itself,  bounded  into 
the  air,  and,  after  turning  a  number  of  somersaults, 
became,  severally,  a  torn  stocking,  excelsior,  and  a 
lunatic  cat.  The  ears  of  this  cat  were  laid  back 
flat  upon  its  head  and  its  speed  was  excessive  upon 
a  fairly  circular  track  it  laid  out  for  itself  in  the 
library.  Flying  round  this  orbit,  it  perceived  the 
open  doorway;  passed  through  it,  thence  to  the 
kitchen,  and  outward  and  onward — Delia  having 
left  the  kitchen  door  open  in  her  haste  as  she  retired 
to  the  backyard. 

The  black  demon  with  the  gassly  white  forehead 
and  hair,  finding  himself  in  the  presence  of  grown 
people  who  were  white  all  over,  turned  in  his  tracks 
and  followed  Mrs.  Williams'  cat  to  the  great  out- 
doors. Duke  preceded  Verman.  Mrs.  Cullen  van- 
ished. Of  the  apparition,  only  wreckage  and  a 
rightfully  apprehensive  Penrod  were  left. 

"But  where — "Mrs.  Schofield  began,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  looking  suddenly  mystified — "where — 
where " 

"Where  what?"  asked  Mr.  Schofield  testily. 
"What  are  you  talking  about?"  His  nerves  were 


THE  DEPARTING  GUEST  287 

jarred,  and  he  was  rather  hoarse  after  what  he  had 
been  saying  to  Penrod.  (That  regretful  necromancer 
was  now  upstairs  doing  unhelpful  things  to  his 
nose  over  a  washstand.)  "What  do  you  mean  by, 
'Where,  where,  where?5"  Mr.  Schofield  demanded. 
"I  don't  see  any  sense  to  it." 

"But  where  is  your  old  classmate?"  she  cried. 
"Where's  Mr.  Gilling?" 

She  was  the  first  to  notice  this  striking  absence. 

"By  George!"  Mr.  Schofield  exclaimed.  "Where 
is  old  Joe?" 

Margaret  intervened.  "You  mean  that  tall,  pale 
man  who  was  calling?"  she  asked. 

"Pale,  no!"  said  her  father.     "He's  as  flushed 

95 

"He  was  pale  when  /  saw  him,"  said  Margaret. 
"He  had  his  hat  and  coat,  and  he  was  trying  to 
get  out  of  the  front  door  when  I  came  running  down- 
stairs. He  couldn't  work  the  catch  for  a  minute, 
but  before  I  got  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  managed 
to  turn  it  and  open  the  door.  He  went  out  before 
I  could  think  what  to  say  to  him,  he  was  in  such  a 
hurry.  I  guess  everything  was  so  confused  you 
didn't  notice — but  he's  certainly  gone." 

Mrs.  Schofield  turned  to  her  husband. 


£88  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"But  I  thought  he  was  going  to  stay  to  dinner!" 
she  cried. 

Mr.  Schofield  shook  his  head,  admitting  himself 
floored.  Later,  having  mentally  gone  over  every- 
thing that  might  shed  light  on  the  curious  behaviour 
of  old  Joe,  he  said,  without  preface : 

"He  wasn't  at  all  dissipated  when  we  were  in  col- 
lege." 

Mrs.  Schofield  nodded  severely.  "Maybe  this 
was  just  the  best  thing  could  have  happened  to  him, 
after  all,"  she  said. 

"It  may  be,"  returned  her  husband.  "I  don't 
say  it  isn't.  But  that  isn't  going  to  make  any  differ- 
ence in  what  I'm  going  to  do  to  Penrod!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

YEARNINGS 

THE  next  day  a  new  ambition  entered  into 
Penrod  Schofield;  it  was  heralded  by  a  flour- 
ish of  trumpets  and  set  up  a  great  noise 
within  his  being. 

On  his  way  home  from  Sunday-school  he  had 
paused  at  a  corner  to  listen  to  a  brass  band,  which 
was  returning  from  a  funeral,  playing  a  medley  of 
airs  from  "The  Merry  Widow,"  and  as  the  musicians 
came  down  the  street,  walking  so  gracefully,  the 
sun  picked  out  the  gold  braid  upon  their  uniforms 
and  splashed  fire  from  their  polished  instruments. 
Penrod  marked  the  shapes  of  the  great  bass  horns, 
the  suave  sculpture  of  their  brazen  coils,  and  the 
grand,  sensational  flare  of  their  mouths.  And  he  saw 
plainly  that  these  noble  things,  to  be  mastered,  needed 
no  more  than  some  breath  blown  into  them  during  the 
fingering  of  a  few  simple  keys.  Then  obediently  they 
gave  forth  those  vast  but  dulcet  sounds  which  stirred 
his  spirit  as  no  other  sounds  could  stir  it  quite. 

289 


290  PENROD  AND  SAM 

The  leader  of  the  band,  walking  ahead,  was  a 
pleasing  figure,  nothing  more.  Penrod  supposed 
him  to  be  a  mere  decoration,  and  had  never  sym- 
pathized with  Sam  Williams'  deep  feeling  about 
drum-majors.  The  cornets,  the  trombones,  the 
smaller  horns  were  rather  interesting,  of  course;  and 
the  drums  had  charm,  especially  the  bass  drum, 
which  must  be  partially  supported  by  a  youth  in 
front;  but,  immeasurably  above  all  these,  what  fas- 
cinated Penrod  was  the  little  man  with  the  monster 
horn.  There  Penrod's  widening  eyes  remained 
transfixed — upon  the  horn,  so  dazzling,  with  its  broad 
spaces  of  brassy  high  lights,  and  so  overwhelming, 
with  its  mouth  as  wide  as  a  tub,  that  there  was  some- 
thing almost  threatening  about  it. 

The  little,  elderly  band-musician  walked  man- 
fully as  he  blew  his  great  horn;  and  in  that  pompous 
engine  of  sound,  the  boy  beheld  a  spectacle  of  huge 
forces  under  human  control.  To  Penrod,  the  horn 
meant  power,  and  the  musician  meant  mastery 
over  power,  though,  of  course,  Penrod  did  not 
know  that  this  was  how  he  really  felt  about  the 
matter. 

Grandiloquent  sketches  were  passing  and  inter- 
changing before  his  mind's  eye — Penrod,  in  noble 


YEARNINGS  291 

raiment,  marching  down  the  staring  street,  his  shoul- 
ders swaying  professionally,  the  roar  of  the  horn  he 
bore  submerging  all  other  sounds;  Penrod  on  horse- 
back, blowing  the  enormous  horn  and  leading  wild 
hordes  to  battle,  while  Marjorie  Jones  looked  on 
from  the  sidewalk;  Penrod  astounding  his  mother 
and  father  and  sister  by  suddenly  serenading  them 
in  the  library.  "Why,  Penrod,  where  did  you  learn 
to  play  like  this?" 

These  were  vague  and  shimmering  glories  of  vision 
rather  than  definite  plans  for  his  life  work,  yet  he 
did  with  all  his  will  determine  to  own  and  play  upon 
some  roaring  instrument  of  brass.  And,  after  all, 
this  was  no  new  desire  of  his;  it  was  only  an  old  one 
inflamed  to  take  a  new  form.  Nor  was  music  the 
root  of  it,  for  the  identical  desire  is  often  uproarious 
among  them  that  hate  music.  What  stirred  in 
Penrod  was  new  neither  in  him  nor  in  the  world, 
but  old — old  as  old  Adam,  old  as  the  childishness  of 
man.  All  children  have  it,  of  course:  they  are  all 
anxious  to  Make  a  Noise  in  the  World. 

While  the  band  approached,  Penrod  marked  the 
time  with  his  feet;  then  he  fell  into  step  and  accom- 
panied the  musicians  down  the  street,  keeping  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  little  man  with  the  big  horn. 


292  PENROD  AND  SAM 

There  were  four  or  five  other  boys,  strangers,  also 
marching  with  the  band,  but  these  were  light  spirits, 
their  flushed  faces  and  prancing  legs  proving  that 
they  were  merely  in  a  state  of  emotional  reaction  to 
music.  Penrod,  on  the  contrary,  was  grave.  He 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  big  horn,  and,  now  and  then, 
he  gave  an  imitation  of  it.  His  fingers  moved  upon 
invisible  keys,  his  cheeks  puffed  out,  and,  from  far 
down  in  his  throat,  he  produced  strange  sounds: 
"  Taw,  p'taw-p'taw !  Taw,  p'taw-p'taw !  PAW ! " 

The  other  boys  turned  back  when  the  musicians 
ceased  to  play,  but  Penrod  marched  on,  still  keeping 
close  to  what  so  inspired  him.  He  stayed  with  the 
band  till  the  last  member  of  it  disappeared  up  a 
staircase  in  an  office-building,  down  at  the  business 
end  of  the  street;  and  even  after  that  he  lingered  a 
while,  looking  at  the  staircase. 

Finally,  however,  he  set  his  face  toward  home, 
whither  he  marched  in  a  procession,  the  visible  part 
of  which  consisted  of  himself  alone.  All  the  way 
the  rhythmic  movements  of  his  head  kept  time  with 
his  marching  feet  and,  also,  with  a  slight  rise  and 
fall  of  his  fingers  at  about  the  median  line  of  his  ab- 
domen. And  pedestrians  who  encountered  him  in 
this  preoccupation  were  not  surprised  to  hear,  as 


YEARNINGS  293 

he  passed,  a  few  explosive  little  vocalizations:  "Taw, 
p'taw-p'taw!  TAW!  Taw-aw-HAW!" 

These  were  the  outward  symptoms  of  no  fleeting 
impulse,  but  of  steadfast  desire;  therefore  they  were 
persistent.  The  likeness  of  the  great  bass  horn  re- 
mained upon  the  retina  of  his  mind's  eye,  losing 
nothing  of  its  brazen  enormity  with  the  passing  of 
hours,  nor  abating,  in  his  mind's  ear,  one  whit  of  its 
fascinating  blatancy.  Penrod  might  have  forgotten 
almost  anything  else  more  readily;  for  such  a  horn 
has  this  double  compulsion:  people  cannot  possibly 
keep  themselves  from  looking  at  its  possessor — and 
they  certainly  have  GOT  to  listen  to  him! 

Penrod  was  preoccupied  at  dinner  and  during  the 
evening,  now  and  then  causing  his  father  some  ir- 
ritation by  croaking,  "Taw,  p'taw-p'taw!"  while 
the  latter  was  talking.  And  when  bedtime  came 
for  the  son  of  the  house,  he  mounted  the  stairs  in  a 
rhythmic  manner,  and  p'tawed  himself  through  the 
upper  hall  as  far  as  his  own  chamber. 

Even  after  he  had  gone  to  bed,  there  came  a  re- 
vival of  these  manifestations.  His  mother  had  put 
out  his  light  for  him  and  had  returned  to  the  library 
downstairs;  three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  elapsed 
since  then,  and  Margaret  was  in  her  room,  next  to 


294  PENROD  AND  SAM 

his,  when  a  continuous  low  croaking  (which  she  was 
just  able  to  bear)  suddenly  broke  out  into  loud, 
triumphal  blattings: 

"TAW,  p'taw-p'taw-aw-HAW!  Ftaw-WAW-aw ! 
Aw-PAW!" 

"Penrod,"  Margaret  called,  "stop  that!  I'm 
trying  to  write  letters.  If  you  don't  quit  and  go  to 
sleep,  I'll  call  papa  up,  and  you'll  see  /" 

The  noise  ceased,  or,  rather,  it  tapered  down  to  a 
desultory  faint  croaking  which  finally  died  out;  but 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Penrod's  last  waking 
thoughts  were  of  instrumental  music.  And  in  the 
morning,  when  he  woke  to  face  the  gloomy  day's 
scholastic  tasks,  something  unusual  and  eager 
dawned  in  his  face  with  the  return  of  memory. 
"  Taw-p'taw ! "  he  began.  "  PAW  ! " 

All  day,  in  school  and  out,  his  mind  was  busy 
with  computations — not  such  as  are  prescribed  by 
mathematical  pedants,  but  estimates  of  how  much 
old  rags  and  old  iron  would  sell  for  enough  money  to 
buy  a  horn.  Happily,  the  next  day,  at  lunch,  he 
was  able  to  dismiss  this  problem  from  his  mind:  he 
learned  that  his  Uncle  Joe  would  be  passing  through 
town,  on  his  way  from  Nevada,  the  following  after- 
noon, and  all  the  Schofield  family  were  to  go  to  the 


YEARNINGS  295 

station  to  see  him.  Penrod  would  be  excused  from 
school. 

At  this  news  his  cheeks  became  pink,  and  for  a 
moment  he  was  breathless.  Uncle  Joe  and  Penrod 
did  not  meet  often,  but,  when  they  did,  Uncle  Joe 
invariably  gave  Penrod  money.  Moreover,  he  al- 
ways managed  to  do  it  privately,  so  that  later  there 
was  no  bothersome  supervision.  Last  time  he  had 
given  Penrod  a  silver  dollar. 

At  thirty-five  minutes  after  two,  Wednesday  after- 
noon, Uncle  Joe's  train  came  into  the  station,  and 
Uncle  Joe  got  out  and  shouted  among  his  relatives. 
At  eighteen  minutes  before  three  he  was  waving 
to  them  from  the  platform  of  the  last  ear,  having 
just  slipped  a  two-dollar  bill  into  Penrod's  breast- 
pocket. And,  at  seven  minutes  after  three,  Penrod 
opened  the  door  of  the  largest  "music  store"  in 
town. 

A  tall,  exquisite,  fair  man,  evidently  a  musical 
earl,  stood  before  him,  leaning  whimsically  upon  a 
piano  of  the  highest  polish.  The  sight  abashed 
Penrod  not  a  bit — his  remarkable  financial  condition 
even  made  him  rather  peremptory. 

"See  here,"  he  said  brusquely:  "I  want  to  look 
at  that  big  horn  in  the  window." 


296  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Very  well,"  said  the  earl;  "look  at  it."  And  he 
leaned  more  luxuriously  upon  the  polished  piano. 

"I  meant "  Penrod  began,  but  paused,  some- 
thing daunted,  while  an  unnamed  fear  brought  greater 
mildness  into  his  voice,  as  he  continued,  "I  meant 
— I How  much  is  that  big  horn?" 

"How  much?"  the  earl  repeated. 

"I  mean,"  said  Penrod,  "how  much  is  it  worth?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  earl  returned.  "Its  price  is 
eighty-five  dollars." 

"Eighty-fi "  Penrod  began  mechanically,  but 

was  forced  to  pause  and  swallow  a  little  air  that  ob- 
structed his  throat,  as  the  difference  between  eighty- 
five  and  two  became  more  and  more  startling.  He 
had  entered  the  store,  rich;  in  the  last  ten  seconds  he 
had  become  poverty-stricken.  Eighty-five  dollars 
was  the  same  as  eighty-five  millions. 

"Shall  I  put  it  aside  for  you,"  asked  the  salesman- 
earl,  "while  you  look  around  the  other  stores  to  see 
if  there's  anything  you  like  better?" 

"I  guess — I  guess  not,"  said  Penrod,  whose  face 
had  grown  red.  He  swallowed  again,  scraped  the 
floor  with  the  side  of  his  right  shoe,  scratched  the 
back  of  his  neck,  and  then,  trying  to  make  his  man- 
ner casual  and  easy,  "Well  I  can't  stand  around 


YEARNINGS  297 

here  all  day,"  he  said.  "I  got  to  be  gettin*  on  up  the 
street." 

"Business,  I  suppose?" 

Penrod,  turning  to  the  door,  suspected  jocularity, 
but  he  found  himself  without  recourse;  he  was  non- 
plussed. 

"Sure  you  won't  let  me  have  that  horn  tied  up 
in  nice  wrapping-paper  in  case  you  decide  to  take 
it?" 

Penrod  was  almost  positive  that  the  spirit  of  this 
question  was  satirical;  but  he  was  unable  to  reply, 
except  by  a  feeble  shake  of  the  head — though  ten 
minutes  later,  as  he  plodded  forlornly  his  homeward 
way,  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  sent  backward 
a  few  words  of  morose  repartee: 

"Oh,  I  am,  am  I?"  he  muttered,  evidently  con- 
cluding a  conversation  which  he  had  continued  men- 
tally with  the  salesman.  "Well,  you're  double  any- 
thing you  call  me,  so  that  makes  you  a  smart  Aleck 
twice!  Ole  double  smart  Aleck!" 

After  that,  he  walked  with  the  least  bit  more 
briskness,  but  not  much.  No  wonder  he  felt  dis- 
couraged: there  are  times  when  eighty-five  dollars 
can  be  a  blow  to  anybody!  Penrod  was  so  stunned 
that  he  actually  forgot  what  was  in  his  pocket.  He 


298  PENROD  AND  SAM 

passed  two  drug  stores,  and  they  had  absolutely  no 
meaning  to  him.  He  walked  all  the  way  without 
spending  a  cent. 

At  home  he  spent  a  moment  in  the  kitchen  pantry 
while  the  cook  was  in  the  cellar;  then  he  went  out 
to  the  stable  and  began  some  really  pathetic  experi- 
ments. His  materials  were  the  small  tin  funnel 
which  he  had  obtained  in  the  pantry,  and  a  short 
section  of  old  garden  hose.  He  inserted  the  funnel 
into  one  end  of  the  garden  hose,  and  made  it  fast 
by  wrappings  of  cord.  Then  he  arranged  the  hose 
in  a  double,  circular  coil,  tied  it  so  that  it  would 
remain  coiled,  and  blew  into  the  other  end. 

He  blew  and  blew  and  blew;  he  set  his  lips  tight 
together,  as  he  had  observed  the  little  musician  with 
the  big  horn  set  his,  and  blew  and  sputtered,  and 
sputtered  and  blew,  but  nothing  of  the  slightest  im- 
portance happened  in  the  orifice  of  the  funnel.  Still 
he  blew.  He  began  to  be  dizzy;  his  eyes  watered; 
his  expression  became  as  horrible  as  a  strangled 
person's.  He  but  blew  the  more.  He  stamped  his 
feet  and  blew.  He  staggered  to  the  wheelbarrow, 
sat,  and  blew — and  yet  the  funnel  uttered  nothing; 
it  seemed  merely  to  breathe  hard. 

It  would  not  sound  like  a  horn,  and,  when  Penrod 


YEARNINGS  299 

finally  gave  up,  he  had  to  admit  piteously  that  it 
did  not  look  like  a  horn.  No  boy  over  nine  could 
have  pretended  that  it  was  a  horn. 

He  tossed  the  thing  upon  the  floor,  and  leaned 
back  in  the  wheelbarrow,  inert. 

"Yay,  Penrod!" 

Sam  Williams  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and, 
behind  Sam,  Master  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior. 

"Yay,  there!" 

Penrod  made  no  response. 

The  two  came  in,  and  Sam  picked  up  the  poor 
contrivance  Penrod  had  tossed  upon  the  floor. 

"What's  this  ole  dingus?"  Sam  asked. 

"Nothin'." 

"Well,  what's  it  for?" 

"Nothin',"  said  Penrod.     "It's  a  kind  of  a  horn." 

"What  kind?" 

"For  music,"  said  Penrod  simply. 

Master  Bitts  laughed  loud  and  long;  he  was  de- 
risive. "Music!"  he  yipped.  "I  thought  you 
meant  a  cow's  horn!  He  says  it's  a  music-horn, 
Sam?  What  you  think  o'  that?  " 

Sam  blew  into  the  thing  industriously. 

"It  won't  work,"  he  announced. 


300  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Course  it  won't!"  Roddy  Bitts  shouted.  "You 
can't  make  it  go  without  you  got  a  real  horn.  I'm 
goin'  to  get  me  a  real  horn  some  day  before  long, 
and  then  you'll  see  me  goin'  up  and  down  here 

playin'  it  like  sixty !     I'll " 

'  'Some  day  before  long!'"  Sam  mocked.  "Yes, 
we  will !  Why 'n't  you  get  it  to-day,  if  you're  goin' 
to?" 

"I  would,"  said  Roddy.  "I'd  go  get  the  money 
from  my  father  right  now,  only  he  wouldn't  give  it 
to  me." 

Sam  whooped,  and  Penrod,  in  spite  of  his  great 
depression,  uttered  a  few  jibing  sounds. 

"I'd  get  my  father  to  buy  me  a  fire-engine  and 
team  o'  horses"  Sam  bellowed,  "only  he  wouldn't!" 

"Listen,  can't  you?"  cried  Roddy.  "I  mean  he 
would  most  any  time,  but  not  this  month.  I  can't 
have  any  money  for  a  month  beginning  last  Satur- 
day, because  I  got  paint  on  one  of  our  dogs,  and  he 
came  in  the  house  with  it  on  him,  and  got  some  on 
pretty  near  everything.  If  it  hadn't  'a'  been  for 
that " 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Sam.  "If  it  hadn't  'a'  been  for 
that!  It's  always  sumpthing  /" 

"It  is  not!" 


YEARNINGS  301 

"Well,  then,  why'n't  you  go  get  a  real  horn?" 

Roddy's  face  had  flushed  with  irritation. 

"Well,  didn't  I  just  tell  you "  he  began,  but 

paused,  while  the  renewal  of  some  interesting  recol- 
lection became  visible  in  his  expression.  "Why,  I 
could,  if  I  wanted  to,"  he  said  more  calmly.  "It 
wouldn't  be  a  new  one,  maybe.  I  guess  it  would  be 
kind  of  an  old  one,  but " 

"Oh,  a  toy  horn!"  said  Sam.  "I  expect  one  you 
had  when  you  were  three  years  old,  and  your  mother 
stuck  it  up  in  the  attic  to  keep  till  you're  dead,  or 
sump  thing!" 

"It's  not  either  any  toy  horn,"  Roddy  insisted. 
"It's  a  reg'lar  horn  for  a  band,  and  I  could  have  it 
as  easy  as  anything." 

The  tone  of  this  declaration  was  so  sincere  that 
it  roused  the  lethargic  Penrod. 

"Roddy,  is  that  true?"  he  sat  up  to  inquire 
piercingly. 

" Of  course  it  is ! "  Master  Bitts  returned.  "  What 
you  take  me  for?  I  could  go  get  that  horn  this 
minute  if  I  wanted  to." 

"A  real  one — honest?" 

"Well,  didn't  I  say  it  was  a  real  one?" 

"Likeinthe&and?" 


302  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  said  so,  didn't  I?" 

"I  guess  you  mean  one  of  those  little  ones,"  said 
Penrod. 

"No,  sir!"  Roddy  insisted  stoutly;  "it's  a  big  one! 
It  winds  around  in  a  big  circle  that  would  go  all 
the  way  around  a  pretty  fat  man." 

"What  store  is  it  in?" 

"It's  not  in  any  store,"  said  Roddy.  "It's  at 
my  Uncle  Ethelbert's.  He's  got  this  horn  and  three 
or  four  pianos  and  a  couple  o'  harps  and " 

"Does  he  keep  a  music  store?" 

"No.  These  harps  and  pianos  and  all  such  are 
old  ones — awful  old." 

"Oh,"  said  Sam,  "he  runs  a  second-hand 
store!" 

"He  does  not!"  Master  Bitts  returned  angrily. 
"He  doesn't  do  anything.  He's  just  got  'em.  He's 
got  forty-one  guitars " 

"Yay!"  Sam  whooped,  and  jumped  up  and  down. 
"Listen  to  Roddy  Bitts  makin'  up  lies!" 

"You  look  out,  Sam  Williams!"  said  Roddy  threat- 
eningly. "  You  look  out  how  you  call  me  names ! " 

"What  name'd  I  call  you?" 

"You  just  the  same  as  said  I  told  lies.  That's 
just  as  good  as  callin'  me  a  liar,  isn't  it?" 


YEARNINGS  303 

"No,"  said  Sam;  "but  I  got  a  right  to,  if  I  want 
to.  Haven't  I,  Penrod  ?  " 

"How?"  Roddy  demanded  hotly.  "How  you 
got  a  right  to?" 

"Because  you  can't  prove  what  you  said." 

"Well,"  said  Roddy,  "you'd  be  just  as  much  of 
one  if  you  can't  prove  what  I  said  wasn't  true." 

"No,  sir!  You  either  got  to  prove  it  or  be  a  liar. 
Isn't  that  so,  Penrod. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Penrod  ruled,  with  a  little  importance. 
"That's  the  way  it  is,  Roddy." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Roddy,  "come  on  over  to  my 
Uncle  Ethelbert's,  and  I'll  show  you!" 

"No,"  said  Sam.  "I  wouldn't  walk  over  there 
just  to  find  out  sumpthing  I  already  know  isn't  so. 
Outside  of  a  music  store  there  isn't  anybody  in  the 
world  got  forty-one  guitars!  I've  heard  lots  o' 
people  talk,  but  I  never  heard  such  a  big  1 " 

"You  shut  up!"  shouted  Roddy.     "You  ole " 

Penrod  interposed. 

"  Why 'n't  you  show  us  the  horn,  Roddy?  "  he  asked. 
"You  said  you  could  get  it.  You  show  us  the  horn 
and  we'll  believe  you.  If  you  show  us  the  horn, 
Sam'll  haf  to  take  what  he  said  back;  won't  you, 
Sam?" 


304  PENROD  AND  SAM 


"Yes,"  said  Sam,  and  added:  "He  hasn't  got 
any.  He  went  and  told  a " 

Roddy's  eyes  were  bright  with  rage;  he  breathed 
noisily. 

"I  haven't?"  he  cried.  "You  just  wait  here,  and 
I'll  show  you!" 

And  he  ran  furiously  from  the  stable. 


CHAPTER  XXH 

THE   HORN   OF  FAME 

BET  he  won't  come  back!"  said  Sam. 
"Well,  he  might." 
"Well,  if  he  does  and  he  hasn't  got  any 
horn,  I  got  a  right  to  call  him  anything  I  want  to, 
and  he's  got  to  stand  it.     And  if  he  doesn't  come 
back,"  Sam  continued,  as  by  the  code,  "then  I  got 
a  right  to  call  him  whatever  I  like  next  time  I  ketch 
him  out." 

"I  expect  he'll  have  some  kind  of  ole  horn,  maybe," 
said  Penrod. 

"No,"  the  skeptical  Sam  insisted,  "he  won't." 
But  Roddy  did.  Twenty  minutes  elapsed,  and 
both  the  waiting  boys  had  decided  that  they  were 
legally  entitled  to  call  him  whatever  they  thought 
fitting,  when  he  burst  in,  puffing;  and  in  his  hands  he 
bore  a  horn.  It  was  a  "real"  one,  and  of  a  kind 
that  neither  Penrod  nor  Sam  had  ever  seen  before, 
though  they  failed  to  realize  this,  because  its  shape 
was  instantly  familiar  to  them.  No  horn  could  have 

305 


306  PENROD  AND  SAM 

been  simpler:  it  consisted  merely  of  one  circular  coil 
of  brass  with  a  mouthpiece  at  one  end  for  the  musi- 
cian, and  a  wide-flaring  mouth  of  its  own,  for  the 
noise,  at  the  other.  But  it  was  obviously  a  second- 
hand horn;  dents  slightly  marred  it,  here  and  there, 
and  its  surface  was  dull,  rather  greenish.  There 
were  no  keys;  and  a  badly  faded  green  cord  and 
tassel  hung  from  the  coil. 

Even  so  shabby  a  horn  as  this  electrified  Penrod. 
It  was  not  a  stupendous  horn,  but  it  was  a  horn; 
and  when  a  boy  has  been  sighing  for  the  moon,  a 
piece  of  green  cheese  will  satisfy  him,  for  he  can 
play  that  it  is  the  moon. 

"  Gimme  that  horn  /"  Penrod  shouted,  as  he  dashed 
for  it. 

"Yay!"  Sam  cried,  and  sought  to  wrest  it  from 
him.  Roddy  joined  the  scuffle,  trying  to  retain 
the  horn;  but  Penrod  managed  to  secure  it.  With 
one  free  hand  he  fended  the  others  off  while  he  blew 
into  the  mouthpiece. 

"Let  me  have  it,"  Sam  urged.  "You  can't  do 
anything  with  it.  Lemme  take  it,  Penrod." 

"No!"  said  Roddy.  "Let  me!  My  goodness! 
Ain't  I  got  any  right  to  blow  my  own  horn?  " 

They  pressed  upon  Penrod,  who  frantically  fended 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  307 

and  frantically  blew.  At  last  he  remembered  to 
compress  his  lips,  and  force  the  air  through  the  com- 
pression. 

A  magnificent  snort  from  the  horn  was  his  reward. 
He  removed  his  lips  from  the  mouthpiece,  and  capered 
in  pride. 

"Hah!"  he  cried.  "Hear  that?  I  guess  7  can't 
play  this  good  ole  horn!  Oh,  no!" 

During  his  capers,  Sam  captured  the  horn.  But 
Sam  had  not  made  the  best  of  his  opportunities 
as  an  observer  of  bands;  he  thrust  the  mouthpiece 
deep  into  his  mouth,  and  blew  until  his  expression 
became  one  of  agony. 

"No,  no!"  Penrod  exclaimed.  "You  haven't  got 
the  secret  of  blowin'  a  horn,  Sam.  What's  the  use 
your  keepin'  hold  of  it,  when  you  don't  know  any 
more  about  it  'n  that?  It  ain't  makin'  a  sound! 
You  lemme  have  that  good  ole  horn  back,  Sam. 
Haven't  you  got  sense  enough  to  see  I  know  how 
to  play?" 

Laying  hands  upon  it,  he  jerked  it  away  from  Sam, 
who  was  a  little  piqued  over  the  failure  of  his  own 
efforts,  especially  as  Penrod  now  produced  a  son- 
orous blat — quite  a  long  one.  Sam  became  cross. 

"My    goodness!"    Roddy    Bitts    said    peevishly. 


308  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"Ain't  I  ever  goin'  to  get  a  turn  at  my  own  horn? 
Here  you've  had  two  turns,  Penrod,  and  even  Sam 
Williams " 

Sam's  petulance  at  once  directed  itself  toward 
Roddy  partly  because  of  the  latter's  tactless  use  of 
the  word  "even,"  and  the  two  engaged  in  contro- 
versy, while  Penrod  was  left  free  to  continue  the  ex- 
periments which  so  enraptured  him. 

"Your  own  horn!"  Sam  sneered.  "I  bet  it  isn't 
yours!  Anyway,  you  can't  prove  it's  yours,  and 
that  gives  me  a  right  to  call  you  any " 

"You  better  not!  It  is,  too,  mine.  It's  just  the 
same  as  mine!" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Sam;  "I  bet  you  got  to  take  it 
back  where  you  got  it,  and  that's  not  anything  like 
the  same  as  yours;  so  I  got  a  perfect  right  to  call 
you  whatev " 

"I  do  not  haf  to  take  it  back  where  I  got  it,  either ! " 
Roddy  cried,  more  and  more  irritated  by  his  op- 
ponent's persistence  in  stating  his  rights  in  this 
matter. 

"I  bet  they  told  you  to  bring  it  back,"  said  Sam 
tauntingly. 

"They  didn't,  either!  There  wasn't  anybody 
there." 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  309 

"Yay!  Then  you  got  to  get  it  back  before  they 
know  it's  gone." 

"I  don't  either  any  such  a  thing!  I  heard  my 
Uncle  Ethelbert  say  Sunday  he  didn't  want  it.  He 
said  he  wished  somebody'd  take  that  horn  off  his 
hands  so's  he  could  buy  sumpthing  else.  That's  just 
exactly  what  he  said.  I  heard  him  tell  my  mother. 
He  said,  *I  guess  I  prackly  got  to  give  it  away  if 
I'm  ever  goin'  to  get  rid  of  it.'  Well,  when  my  own 
uncle  says  he  wants  to  give  a  horn  away,  and  he 
wishes  he  could  get  rid  of  it,  I  guess  it's  just  the  same 
as  mine,  soon  as  I  go  and  take  it,  isn't  it?  I'm  goin' 
to  keep  it." 

Sam  was  shaken,  but  he  had  set  out  to  demon- 
strate those  rights  of  his  and  did  not  mean  to  yield 
them. 

"Yes;  you'll  have  a  nice  time,"  he  said,  "next  time 
your  uncle  goes  to  play  on  that  horn  and  can't  find 
it.  No,  sir;  I  got  a  perfect  ri " 

"My  uncle  don't  play  on  it!"  Roddy  shrieked. 
"It's  an  ole  wore-out  horn  nobody  wants,  and  it's 
mine,  I  tell  you!  I  can  blow  on  it,  or  bust  it,  or 
kick  it  out  in  the  alley  and  leave  it  there,  if  I  want 
to!" 

"No,  you  can't!" 


310  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  can,  too!" 

"No,  you  can't.  You  can't  prove  you  can,  and 
unless  you  prove  it,  I  got  a  perf " 

Roddy  stamped  his  foot.  "I  can,  too!"  he 
shrieked.  "You  ole  durn  jackass,  lean,  too!  lean, 
can,  can,  can " 

Penrod  suddenly  stopped  his  intermittent  pro- 
duction of  blats,  and  intervened.  "7  know  how  you 
can  prove  it,  Roddy,"  he  said  briskly.  "There's 
one  way  anybody  can  always  prove  sumpthing  be- 
longs to  them,  so  that  nobody'd  have  a  right  to  call 
them  what  they  wanted  to.  You  can  prove  it's 
yours,  easy  /" 

"How?" 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  "if  you  give  it  away." 

"What  you  mean?"  asked  Roddy,  frowning. 

"Well,  look  here,"  Penrod  began  brightly.  "You 
can't  give  anything  away  that  doesn't  belong  to 
you,  can  you?" 

"No." 

"So,  then,"  the  resourceful  boy  continued,  "f'r 
instance,  if  you  give  this  ole  horn  to  me,  that'd  prove 
it  was  yours,  and  Sam'd  haf  to  say  it  was,  and  he 
wouldn't  have  any  right  to " 

"I  won't  do  it!"  said  Roddy  sourly.     "I  don't 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  311 

want  to  give  you  that  horn.  What  I  want  to  give 
you  anything  at  all  for?" 

Penrod  sighed,  as  if  the  task  of  reaching  Roddy's 
mind  with  reason  were  too  heavy  for  him.  "Well,  if 
you  don't  want  to  prove  it,  and  rather  let  us  have 
the  right  to  call  you  anything  we  want  to — well,  all 
right,  then,"  he  said. 

"You  look  out  what  you  call  me!"  Roddy  cried, 
only  the  more  incensed,  in  spite  of  the  pains  Penrod 
was  taking  with  him.  "I  don't  haf  to  prove  it. 
It's  mine  /" 

"What  kind  o'  proof  is  that?"  Sam  Williams  de- 
manded severely.  "You  got  to  prove  it  and  you 
can't  do  it!" 

Roddy  began  a  reply,  but  his  agitation  was  so 
great  that  what  he  said  had  not  attained  coherency 
when  Penrod  again  intervened.  He  had  just  re- 
membered something  important. 

"Oh,  /  know,  Roddy!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  you 
sell  it,  that'd  prove  it  was  yours  almost  as  good  as 
givin'  it  away.  What'll  you  take  for  it?" 

"I  don't  want  to  sell  it,"  said  Roddy  sulkily. 

"Yay!  Yay!  YAY!"  shouted  the  taunting  Sam 
Williams,  whose  every  word  and  sound  had  now 
become  almost  unbearable  to  Master  Bitts.  Sam 


312  PENROD  AND  SAM 

was  usually  so  good-natured  that  the  only  explana- 
tion of  his  conduct  must  lie  in  the  fact  that  Roddy 
constitutionally  got  on  his  nerves.  "He  knows  he 
can't  prove  it!  He's  a  goner,  and  now  we  can  begin 
callin'  him  anything  we  can  think  of!  I  choose  to 
call  him  one  first,  Penrod.  Roddy,  you're  a " 

"Wait!"  shouted  Penrod,  for  he  really  believed 
Roddy's  claims  to  be  both  moral  and  legal.  When 
an  uncle  who  does  not  even  play  upon  an  old  second- 
hand horn  wishes  to  get  rid  of  that  horn,  and  even 
complains  of  having  it  on  his  hands,  it  seems  reason- 
able to  consider  that  the  horn  becomes  the  property 
of  a  nephew  who  has  gone  to  the  trouble  of  carrying 
the  undesired  thing  out  of  the  house. 

Penrod  determined  to  deal  fairly.  The  difference 
between  this  horn  and  the  one  in  the  "music-store" 
window  seemed  to  him  just  about  the  difference 
between  two  and  eighty-five.  He  drew  forth  the 
green  bill  from  his  pocket. 

"Roddy,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  you  two  dollars  for 
that  horn." 

Sam  Williams's  mouth  fell  open;  he  was  silenced 
indeed.  But  for  a  moment,  the  confused  and  bad- 
gered Roddy  was  incredulous;  he  had  not  dreamed 
that  Penrod  possessed  such  a  sum. 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  313 

"Lemme  take  a  look  at  that  money!"  he  said. 

If  at  first  there  had  been  in  Roddy's  mind  a  little 
doubt  about  his  present  rights  of  ownership,  he  had 
talked  himself  out  of  it.  Also,  his  financial  supplies 
for  the  month  were  cut  off,  on  account  of  the  careless 
dog.  Finally,  he  thought  that  the  horn  was  worth 
about  fifty  cents. 

"I'll  do  it,  Penrod!"  he  said  with  decision. 

Thereupon  Penrod  shouted  aloud,  prancing  up 
and  down  the  carriage-house  with  the  horn.  Roddy 
was  happy,  too,  and  mingled  his  voice  with  Penrod's. 

"Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  shouted  Roddy  Bitts.  "I'm  goin' 
to  buy  me  an  air-gun  down  at  Fox's  hardware  store ! " 

And  he  departed,  galloping. 

.  .  .  He  returned  the  following  afternoon. 
School  was  over,  and  Penrod  and  Sam  were  again  in 
the  stable;  Penrod  "was  practising"  upon  the  horn, 
with  Sam  for  an  unenthusiastic  spectator  and  audi- 
tor. Master  Bitts'  brow  was  heavy;  he  looked  un- 
easy. 

"Penrod,"  he  began,  "I  got  to " 

Penrod  removed  the  horn  briefly  from  his  lips. 

"Don't  come  bangin'  around  here  and  interrup'  me 
all  the  time,"  he  said  severely.  "I  got  to  practise." 


314  PENROD  AND  SAM 

And  he  again  pressed  the  mouthpiece  to  his  lips. 
He  was  not  of  those  whom  importance  makes  gra- 
cious. 

"Look  here,  Penrod,"  said  Roddy,  "I  got  to  have 
that  horn  back." 

Penrod  lowered  the  horn  quickly  enough  at  this. 

"  What  you  talkin'  about?  "  he  demanded.  "  What 
you  want  to  come  bangin'  around  here  for  and 

"I  came  around  here  for  that  horn,"  Master  Bitts 
returned,  and  his  manner  was  both  dogged  and  ap- 
prehensive, the  apprehension  being  more  prevalent 
when  he  looked  at  Sam.  "I  got  to  have  that  horn," 
he  said. 

Sam,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  wheelbarrow, 
jumped  up  and  began  to  dance  triumphantly. 

"  Yay !  It  wasn't  his,  after  all !  Roddy  Bitts  told 
a  big  1 " 

"I  never,  either!"  Roddy  almost  wailed. 

"Well,  what  you  want  the  horn  back  for?"  the 
terrible  Sam  demanded. 

"Well,  'cause  I  want  it.  I  got  a  right  to  want  it 
if  I  want  to,  haven't  I?" 

Penrod's  face  had  flushed  with  indignation. 

"You  look  here,  Sam,"  he  began  hotly.  "Didn't 
you  hear  Roddy  say  this  was  his  horn?" 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  315 

"He  said  it!"  Sam  declared.  "He  said  it  a  mil- 
lion times!" 

"Well,  and  didn't  he  sell  this  horn  to  me?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Didn't  I  pay  him  money  cash  down  for  it?" 

"Two  dollars!" 

"Well,  and  ain't  it  my  horn  now,  Sam?" 

"You  bet  you!" 

"Yes,  sir!"  Penrod  went  on  with  vigour.  "It's 
my  horn  now  whether  it  belonged  to  you  or  not, 
Roddy,  because  you  sold  it  to  me  and  I  paid  my  good 
ole  money  for  it.  I  guess  a  thing  belongs  to  the 
person  that  paid  their  own  money  for  it,  doesn't  it? 
/  don't  haf  to  give  up  my  own  propaty,  even  if  you 
did  come  on  over  here  and  told  us  a  big  1 " 

"I  never!"  shouted  Roddy.  "It  was  my  horn, 
too,  and  I  didn't  tell  any  such  a  thing! "  He  paused; 
then,  reverting  to  his  former  manner,  said  stub- 
bornly, "I  got  to  have  that  horn  back.  I  got  to!" 

"  Why'n't  you  tell  us  what /or,  then?  "  Sam  insisted. 

Roddy's  glance  at  this  persecutor  was  one  of 
anguish. 

"I  know  my  own  biz'nuss!"  he  muttered. 

And  while  Sam  jeered,  Roddy  turned  to  Penrod 
desperately. 


316  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"You  gimme  that  horn  back!    I  got  to  have  it." 

But  Penrod  followed  Sain's  lead. 

"Well,  why  can't  you  tell  us  what  for  ?"  he  asked. 

Perhaps  if  Sam  had  not  been  there,  Roddy  could 
have  unbosomed  himself.  He  had  no  doubt  of  his 
own  virtue  in  this  affair,  and  he  was  conscious  that 
he  had  acted  in  good  faith  throughout — though, 
perhaps,  a  little  impulsively.  But  he  was  in  a  pre- 
dicament, and  he  knew  that  if  he  became  more 
explicit,  Sam  could  establish  with  undeniable  logic 
those  rights  about  which  he  had  been  so  odious  the 
day  before.  Such  triumph  for  Sam  was  not  within 
Roddy's  power  to  contemplate;  he  felt  that  he  would 
rather  die,  or  sumpthing. 

"I  got  to  have  that  horn!"  he  reiterated  woodenly. 

Penrod  had  no  intention  to  humour  this  prepos- 
terous boy,  and  it  was  only  out  of  curiosity  that  he 
asked,  "Well,  if  you  want  the  horn  back,  where's 
the  two  dollars?" 

"I  spent  it.  I  bought  an  air-gun  for  a  dollar  and 
sixty-five  cents,  and  three  sodies  and  some  candy 
with  the  rest.  I'll  owe  you  the  two  dollars,  Penrod. 
I'm  willing  to  do  that  much." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  give  him  the  air-gun," 
asked  the  satirical  Sam,  "and  owe  him  the  rest?" 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  317 

"I  can't.  Papa  took  the  air-gun  away  from  me 
because  he  didn't  like  sumpthing  I  did  with  it.  I 
got  to  owe  you  the  whole  two  dollars,  Penrod." 

"Look  here,  Roddy,"  said  Penrod.  "Don't  you 
s'pose  I'd  rather  keep  this  horn  and  blow  on  it  than 
have  you  owe  me  two  dollars?" 

There  was  something  about  this  simple  question 
which  convinced  Roddy  that  his  cause  was  lost. 
His  hopes  had  been  but  faint  from  the  beginning  of 
the  interview. 

"Well "  said  Roddy.  For  a  time  he  scuffed 

the  floor  with  his  shoe.  "Daw-gone  it!"  he  said,  at 
last;  and  he  departed  morosely. 

Penrod  had  already  begun  to  "practise"  again, 
and  Mr.  Williams,  after  vain  appeals  to  be  permitted 
to  practise  in  turn,  sank  into  the  wheelbarrow  in  a 
state  of  boredom,  not  remarkable  under  the  circum- 
stances. Then  Penrod  contrived — it  may  have  been 
accidental— -to  produce  at  one  blast  two  tones  which 
varied  in  pitch. 

His  pride  and  excitement  were  extreme  though 
not  contagious.  "  Listen,  Sam ! "  he  shouted.  "  How's 
that  for  high?" 

The  bored  Sam  made  no  response  other  than  to  rise 
languidly  to  his  feet,  stretch,  and  start  for  home. 


318  PENROD  AND  SAM 

Left  alone,  Penrod's  practice  became  less  ardent; 
he  needed  the  stimulus  of  an  auditor.  With  the 
horn  upon  his  lap  he  began  to  rub  the  greenish  brass 
surface  with  a  rag.  He  meant  to  make  this  good  ole 
two-dollar  horn  of  his  look  like  sump  thing! 

Presently,  moved  by  a  better  idea,  he  left  the  horn 
in  the  stable  and  went  into  the  house,  soon  afterward 
appearing  before  his  mother  in  the  library. 

"Mamma,"  he  said,  complainingly,  "Delia 
won't " 

But  Mrs.  Schofield  checked  him. 

"Sh,  Penrod;  your  father's  reading  the  paper." 

Penrod  glanced  at  Mr.  Schofield,  who  sat  near  the 
window,  reading  by  the  last  light  of  the  early  sunset. 

"Well,  I  know  it,"  said  Penrod,  lowering  his  voice. 
"But  I  wish  you'd  tell  Delia  to  let  me  have  the 
silver  polish.  She  says  she  won't,  and  I  want  to " 

"Be  quiet,  Penrod,  you  can't  have  the  silver 
polish." 

"But,  mamma " 

"Not  another  word.  Can't  you  see  you're  inter- 
rupting your  father.  Go  on,  papa." 

Mr.  Schofield  read  aloud  several  despatches  from 
abroad,  and  after  each  one  of  them  Penrod  began  in 
a  low  but  pleading  tone: 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME  319 

"Mamma,  I  want " 

"Sh,  Penrod!" 

Mr.  Schofield  continued  to  read,  and  Penrod  re- 
mained in  the  room,  for  he  was  determined  to  have 
the  silver  polish. 

"Here's  something  curious,"  said  Mr.  Schofield, 
as  his  eye  fell  upon  a  paragraph  among  the 
"locals." 

"What?" 

"  Valuable  relic  missing,"  Mr.  Schofield  read.  "  It 
was  reported  at  police  headquarters  to-day  that  a 
valuable  object  had  been  stolen  from  the  collection 
of  antique  musical  instruments  owned  by  E.  Mags- 
worth  Bitts,  724  Central  Avenue.  The  police  insist 
that  it  must  have  been  an  inside  job,  but  Mr.  Mags- 
worth  Bitts  inclines  to  think  it  was  the  work  of  a 
negro,  as  only  one  article  was  removed  and  nothing 
else  found  to  be  disturbed.  The  object  stolen  was 
an  ancient  hunting-horn  dating  from  the  eighteenth 
century  and  claimed  to  have  belonged  to  Louis  XV, 
King  of  France.  It  was  valued  at  about  twelve  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars." 

Mrs.  Schofield  opened  her  mouth  wide.  "Why, 
that  is  curious!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  jumped  up.     "Penrod!" 


320  PENROD  AND  SAM 

But  Penrod  was  no  longer  in  the  room. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Schofield  inquired. 

"  Penrod ! "  said  Mrs.  Schofield  breathlessly.  "  He 
bought  an  old  horn — like  one  in  old  hunting-pic- 
tures— yesterday!  He  bought  it  with  some  money 
Uncle  Joe  gave  him!  He  bought  it  from  Roddy 
Bitts!" 

"Where'dhego?" 

Together  they  rushed  to  the  back  porch. 

Penrod  had  removed  the  lid  of  the  cistern;  he 
was  kneeling  beside  it,  and  the  fact  that  the  diam- 
eter of  the  opening  into  the  cistern  was  one  inch 
less  than  the  diameter  of  the  coil  of  Louis  the  Fif- 
teenth's hunting-horn  was  all  that  had  just  saved 
Louis  the  Fifteenth's  hunting-horn  from  joining  the 
drowned  trousers  of  Herman. 

Such  was  Penrod's  instinct,  and  thus  loyally  he 
had  followed  it. 

.  .  .  He  was  dragged  into  the  library,  expect- 
ing anything  whatever.  The  dreadful  phrases  of 
the  newspaper  item  rang  through  his  head  like  the 
gongs  of  delirium:  "Police  headquarters!"  "Work  of 
a  negro !"  "  King  of  France !"  "  Valued  at  about  twelve 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars ! " 


THE  HORN  OF  FAME 

Eighty-five  dollars  had  dismayed  him;  twelve  hun- 
dred and  fifty  was  unthinkable.  Nightmares  were 
coming  to  life  before  his  eyes. 

But  a  light  broke  slowly;  it  came  first  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Schofield,  and  it  was  they  who  illuminated 
Penrod.  Slowly,  slowly,  as  they  spoke  more  and 
more  pleasantly  to  him,  it  began  to  dawn  upon  him 
that  this  trouble  was  all  Roddy's. 

And  when  Mr.  Schofield  went  to  take  the  horn 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Ethelbert  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Penrod  sat  quietly  with  his  mother.  Mr.  Schofield 
was  gone  an  hour  and  a  half.  Upon  his  solemn  re- 
turn he  reported  that  Roddy's  father  had  been  sum- 
moned by  telephone  to  bring  his  son  to  the  house  of 
Uncle  Ethelbert.  Mr.  Bitts  had  forthwith  appeared 
with  Roddy,  and,  when  Mr.  Schofield  came  away, 
Roddy  was  still  (after  half  an  hour's  previous  efforts) 
explaining  his  honourable  intentions.  Mr.  Scho- 
field indicated  that  Roddy's  condition  was  agitated, 
and  that  he  was  having  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  in 
making  his  position  clear. 

Penrod's  imagination  paused  outside  the  thresh- 
old of  that  room  in  Mr.  Ethelbert  Magsworth  Bitts' 
house,  and  awe  fell  upon  him  when  he  thought 
of  it.  Roddy  seemed  to  have  disappeared  within 


PENROD  AND  SAM 

a  shrouding  mist  where  Penrod's  mind  refused  to 
follow  him. 

"Well,  he  got  back  his  ole  horn!"  said  Sam  after 
school  the  next  afternoon.  "I  knew  we  had  a  per- 
fect right  to  call  him  whatever  we  wanted  to!  I 
bet  you  hated  to  give  up  that  good  ole  horn,  Penrod." 

But  Penrod  was  serene.  He  was  even  a  little 
superior. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said.  "I'm  goin'  to  learn  to  play 
on  sumpthing  better 'n  any  ole  horn.  It's  lots  better, 
because  you  can  carry  it  around  with  you  anywhere, 
and  you  couldn't  a  horn." 

"What  is  it?"  Sam  asked,  not  too  much  pleased 
by  Penrod's  air  of  superiority  and  high  content. 
"You  mean  a  jew's-harp?" 

"I  guess  not!  I  mean  a  flute  with  all  silver  on  it 
and  everything.  My  father's  goin'  to  buy  me  one." 

"I  bet  he  isn't!" 

"He  is,  too,"  said  Penrod;  "soon  as  I'm  twenty- 
one  years  old." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   PARTY 


Miss  Amy  Rennsdale 

At  Home 

Saturday,  the  twenty-third 
from  three  to  six 

R.  s.  v.  p.  Dancing 


THIS  little  card,  delicately  engraved,  betok- 
ened the  hospitality  incidental  to  the  ninth 
birthday  anniversary  of  Baby  Rennsdale, 
youngest  member  of  the  Friday  Afternoon  Danc- 
ing Class,  and,  by  the  same  token,  it  represented 
the  total  social  activity  (during  that  season)  of  a 
certain  limited  bachelor  set  consisting  of  Messrs. 
Penrod  Schofield  and  Samuel  Williams.  The  truth 
must  be  faced:  Penrod  and  Sam  were  seldom  in- 
vited to  small  parties;  they  were  considered  too 
imaginative.  But  in  the  case  of  so  large  an  affair  as 
Miss  Rennsdale's,  the  feeling  that  their  parents 
would  be  sensitive  outweighed  fears  of  what  Penrod 

328 


324  PENROD  AND  SAM 

and  Sam  might  do  at  the  party.  Reputation  is  in- 
deed a  bubble,  but  sometimes  it  is  blown  of  sticky 
stuff. 

The  comrades  set  out  for  the  fete  in  company, 
final  maternal  outpourings  upon  deportment  and 
the  duty  of  dancing  with  the  hostess  evaporating  in 
their  freshly  cleaned  ears.  Both  boys,  however, 
were  in  a  state  of  mind,  body,  and  decoration  ap- 
propriate to  the  gala  scene  they  were  approaching. 
Their  collars  were  wide  and  white;  inside  the  pockets 
of  their  overcoats  were  glistening  dancing-pumps, 
wrapped  in  tissue-paper;  inside  their  jacket  pockets 
were  pleasanjt-smelling  new  white  gloves,  and  inside 
their  heads  solemn  timidity  commingled  with  glit- 
tering anticipations.  Before  them,  like  a  Christ- 
mas tree  glimpsed  through  lace  curtains,  they  beheld 
joy  shimmering — music,  ice-cream,  macaroons,  tinsel 
caps,  and  the  starched  ladies  of  their  hearts.  Penrod 
and  Sam  walked  demurely  yet  almost  boundingly; 
their  faces  were  shining  but  grave — they  were  on 
their  way  to  the  Party! 

"Look  at  there!"  said  Penrod.  "There's  Carlie 
Chitten!" 

"Where?  "Sam  asked. 

"  'Cross  the  street.     Haven't  you  got  any  eyes?" 


THE  PARTY  325 

"Well,  whyn't  you  say  he  was  'cross  the  street 
in  the  first  place?"  Sam  returned  plaintively.  "Be- 
sides, he's  so  little  you  can't  hardly  see  him."  This 
was,  of  course,  a  violent  exaggeration,  though  Master 
Chitten,  not  yet  eleven  years  old,  was  an  inch  or 
two  short  for  his  age.  "He's  all  dressed  up,"  Sam 
added.  "I  guess  he  must  be  invited." 

"I  bet  he  does  sumpthing,"  said  Penrod. 

"I  bet  he  does,  too,"  Sam  agreed. 

This  was  the  extent  of  their  comment  upon  the 
small  person  across  the  street,  but,  in  spite  of  its 
non-committal  character,  the  manner  of  both  com- 
mentators seemed  to  indicate  that  they  had  just 
exchanged  views  upon  an  interesting  and  even 
curious  subject.  They  walked  along  in  silence  for 
several  minutes,  staring  speculatively  at  Master 
Chitten. 

His  appearance  was  pleasant  and  not  remarkable. 
He  was  a  handsome,  dark  little  boy,  with  quick  eyes 
and  a  precociously  reserved  expression;  his  air  was 
"well-bred";  he  was  exquisitely  neat,  and  he  had  a 
look  of  manly  competence  which  grown  people  found 
attractive  and  reassuring.  In  short,  he  was  a  boy 
of  whom  a  timid  adult  stranger  would  have  inquired 
the  way  with  confidence.  And  yet  Sam  and  Penrod 


326  PENROD  AND  SAM 

had  mysterious  thoughts  about  him — obviously  there 
was  something  subterranean  here. 

They  continued  to  look  at  him  for  the  greater 
part  of  a  block,  when,  their  progress  bringing  them 
in  sight  of  Miss  Amy  Rennsdale's  place  of  residence, 
their  attention  was  directed  to  a  group  of  men  bear- 
ing festal  burdens — encased  violins,  a  shrouded  harp, 
and  other  beckoning  shapes.  There  were  signs,  too, 
that  most  of  "those  invited"  intended  to  miss  no 
moment  of  this  party;  guests  already  indoors 
watched  from  the  windows  the  approach  of  the 
musicians.  Washed  boys  in  black  and  white,  and 
girls  in  tender  colours  converged  from  various  direc- 
tions, making  gayly  for  the  thrilling  gateway — and 
the  most  beautiful  little  girl  in  all  the  world,  Marjorie 
Jones,  of  the  amber  curls,  jumped  from  a  carriage 
step  to  the  curbstone  as  Penrod  and  Sam  came  up. 
She  waved  to  them. 

Sam  responded  heartily,  but  Penrod,  feeling  real 
emotion  and  seeking  to  conceal  it,  muttered,  "'Lo, 
Marjorie!"  gruffly,  offering  no  further  demonstra- 
tion. Marjorie  paused  a  moment,  expectant,  and 
then,  as  he  did  not  seize  the  opportunity  to  ask  her 
for  the  first  dance,  she  tried  not  to  look  disappointed 
and  ran  into  the  house  ahead  of  the  two  boys.  Pen- 


THE  PARTY  327 

rod  was  scarlet;  he  wished  to  dance  the  first  dance 
with  Marjorie,  and  the  second  and  the  third  and 
all  the  other  dances,  and  he  strongly  desired  to  sit 
with  her  "at  refreshments,"  but  he  had  been  unable 
to  ask  for  a  single  one  of  these  privileges.  It  would 
have  been  impossible  for  him  to  state  why  he  was 
thus  dumb,  although  the  reason  was  simple  and 
wholly  complimentary  to  Marjorie:  she  had  looked 
so  overpoweringly  pretty  that  she  had  produced  in 
the  bosom  of  her  admirer  a  severe  case  of  stage  fright. 
That  was  "all  the  matter  with  him,"  but  it  was  the 
beginning  of  his  troubles,  and  he  did  not  recover 
until  he  and  Sam  reached  the  "gentleman's  dressing- 
room,"  whither  they  were  directed  by  a  polite 
coloured  man. 

Here  they  found  a  cloud  of  acquaintances  getting 
into  pumps  and  gloves,  and,  in  a  few  extreme  cases, 
readjusting  hair  before  a  mirror.  Some  even  went 
so  far — after  removing  their  shoes  and  putting  on 
their  pumps — as  to  wash  traces  of  blacking  from  their 
hands  in  the  adjacent  bathroom  before  assuming  their 
gloves.  Penrod,  being  in  a  strange  mood,  was  one 
of  these,  sharing  the  basin  with  little  Maurice  Levy. 

"Carlie  Chitten's  here,"  said  Maurice,  as  they 
soaped  their  hands. 


328  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"I  guess  I  know  it,"  Penrod  returned.  "I  bet 
he  does  sump  thing,  too." 

Maurice  shook  his  head  ominously.  "Well, 
I'm  gettin'  tired  of  it.  I  know  he  was  the  one 
stuck  that  cold  fried  egg  in  P'fesser  Bartet's 
overcoat  pocket  at  dancin'-school,  and  ole  p'fesser 
went  and  blamed  it  on  me.  Then,  Carlie,  he  c'm 
up  to  me,  th'  other  day,  and  he  says,  'Smell  my  but- 
tonhole bokay.'  He  had  some  vi'lets  stickin*  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  I  went  to  smell  'em  and  water 
squirted  on  me  out  of  'em.  I  guess  I've  stood  about 
enough,  and  if  he  does  another  thing  I  don't  like, 
he  better  look  out!" 

Penrod  showed  some  interest,  inquiring  for  details, 
whereupon  Maurice  explained  that  if  Master  Chitten 
displeased  him  further,  Master  Chitten  would  re- 
ceive a  blow  upon  one  of  his  features.  Maurice 
was  simple  and  homely  about  it,  seeking  rhetorical 
vigour  rather  than  elegance;  in  fact,  what  he  defi- 
nitely promised  Master  Chitten  was  "a  bang  on  the 
snoot." 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  "he  never  bothered  me  any. 
I  expect  he  knows  too  much  for  that ! " 

A  cry  of  pain  was  heard  from  the  dressing-room 
at  this  juncture,  and,  glancing  through  the  doorway, 


THE  PARTY  329 

Maurice  and  Penrod  beheld  Sam  Williams  in  the  act 
of  sucking  his  right  thumb  with  vehemence,  the 
while  his  brow  was  contorted  and  his  eyes  watered. 
He  came  into  the  bathroom  and  held  his  thumb  under 
a  faucet. 

"That  darn  little  Carlie  Chitten!"  he  complained, 
"  He  ast  me  to  hold  a  little  tin  box  he  showed  me.  He 
told  me  to  hold  it  between  my  thumb  and  fingers  and 
he'd  show  me  sumpthing.  Then  he  pushed  the  lid, 
and  a  big  needle  came  out  of  a  hole  and  stuck  me  half 
through  my  thumb.  That's  a  nice  way  to  act,  isn't 
it?" 

Carlie  Chitten's  dark  head  showed  itself  cau- 
tiously beyond  the  casing  of  the  door. 

"How's  your  thumb,  Sam?"  he  asked. 

"You  wait!"  Sam  shouted,  turning  furiously,  but 
the  small  prestidigitator  was  gone.  With  a  smoth- 
ered laugh,  Carlie  dashed  through  the  groups  of  boys 
in  the  dressing-room  and  made  his  way  downstairs, 
his  manner  reverting  to  its  usual  polite  gravity  before 
he  entered  the  drawing-room,  where  his  hostess 
waited.  Music  sounding  at  about  this  time,  he  was 
followed  by  the  other  boys,  who  came  trooping  down, 
leaving  the  dressing-room  empty. 

Penrod,  among  the  tail-enders  of  the  procession, 


330  PENROD  AND  SAM 

made  his  dancing-school  bow  to  Miss  Rennsdale  and 
her  grown-up  supporters  (two  maiden  aunts  and  a 
governess)  then  he  looked  about  for  Marjorie,  dis- 
covering her  but  too  easily.  Her  amber  curls  were 
swaying  gently  in  time  to  the  music;  she  looked 
never  more  beautiful,  and  her  partner  was  Master 
Chitten! 

A  pang  of  great  penetrative  power  and  equal  un- 
expectedness found  the  most  vulnerable  spot  be- 
neath the  simple  black  of  Penrod  Schofield's  jacket. 
Straightway  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  crash- 
covered  floors  where  the  dancers  were,  and  moved 
gloomily  toward  the  hall.  But  one  of  the  maiden 
aunts  Rennsdale  waylaid  him. 

"It's  Penrod  Schofield,  isn't  it?"  she  asked.  "Or 
Sammy  Williams?  I'm  not  sure  which.  Is  it  Pen- 
rod?" 

"Ma'am?"  he  said.     "Yes'm." 

"  Well,  Penrod,  I  can  find  a  partner  for  you.  There 
are  several  dear  little  girls  over  here,  if  you'll  come 
with  me." 

"Well "  He  paused,  shifted  from  one  foot  to 

the  other,  and  looked  enigmatic.  "I  better  not,"  he 
said.  He  meant  no  offence;  his  trouble  was  only 
that  he  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  do  as  he  pleased 


THE  PARTY  331 

at  a  party  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  seem  polite 
about  it.  "I  guess  I  don't  want  to,"  he  added. 

"Very  well!"  And  Miss  Rennsdale  instantly 
left  him  to  his  own  devices. 

He  went  to  lurk  in  the  wide  doorway  between  the 
hall  and  the.  drawing-room — under  such  conditions 
the  universal  refuge  of  his  sex  at  all  ages.  There  he 
found  several  boys  of  notorious  shyness,  and  stood 
with  them  in  a  mutually  protective  group.  Now 
and  then  one  of  them  would  lean  upon  another  until 
repelled  by  action  and  a  husky  "What's  matter  'th 
you?  Get  off  o'  me!"  They  all  twisted  their  slen- 
der necks  uneasily  against  the  inner  bands  of  their 
collars  at  intervals,  and  sometimes  exchanged  face- 
tious blows  under  cover.  In  the  distance  Penrod 
caught  glimpses  of  amber  curls  flashing  to  and  fro, 
and  he  knew  himself  to  be  among  the  derelicts. 

He  remained  in  this  questionable  sanctuary  during 
the  next  dance,  but,  edging  along  the  wall  to  lean  more 
comfortably  in  a  corner,  as  the  music  of  the  third 
sounded,  he  overheard  part  of  a  conversation  which 
somewhat  concerned  him.  The  participants  were 
the  governess  of  his  hostess,  Miss  Lowe,  and  that  one 
of  the  aunts  Rennsdale  who  had  offered  to  provide 
him  with  a  partner.  These  two  ladies  were  stand- 


332  PENROD  AND  SAM 

ing  just  in  front  of  him,  unconscious  of  his  near- 
ness. 

"I  never,"  said  Miss  Rennsdale,  "never  saw  a  more 
fascinating  little  boy  than  that  Carlie  Chitten. 
There'll  be  some  heartaches  when  he  grows  up;  I 
can't  keep  my  eyes  off  him." 

"Yes;  he's  a  charming  boy,"  said  Miss  Lowe. 
"His  manners  are  remarkable." 

"He's  a  little  man  of  the  world,"  the  enthusiastic 
Miss  Rennsdale  went  on,  "very  different  from  such 
boys  as  Penrod  Schofield!" 

"Oh,  Penrod!"  Miss  Lowe  exclaimed.  "Good 
gracious!" 

"I  don't  see  why  he  came.  He  declines  to  dance — 
rudely,  too!" 

"I  don't  think  the  little  girls  will  mind  that  so 
much ! "  Miss  Lowe  said.  "  If  you'd  come  to  the  danc- 
ing class  some  Friday  with  Amy  and  me,  you'd  under- 
stand why." 

They  moved  away.  Penrod  heard  his  name  again 
mentioned  between  them  as  they  went,  and  though 
he  did  not  catch  the  accompanying  remark,  he  was 
inclined  to  think  it  unfavourable.  He  remained 
where  he  was,  brooding  morbidly. 

He  understood  that  the  government  was  against 


THE  PARTY  333 

him,  nor  was  his  judgment  at  fault  in  this  conclusion. 
He  was  affected,  also,  by  the  conduct  of  Marjorie, 
who  was  now  dancing  gayly  with  Maurice  Levy,  a 
former  rival  of  Penrod's.  The  fact  that  Penrod  had 
not  gone  near  her  did  not  make  her  culpability  seem 
the  less;  in  his  gloomy  heart  he  resolved  not  to  ask 
her  for  one  single  dance.  He  would  not  go  near  her. 
He  would  not  go  near  any  of  'em  ! 

His  eyes  began  to  burn,  and  he  swallowed  heavily; 
but  he  was  never  one  to  succumb  piteously  to  such 
emotion,  and  it  did  not  even  enter  his  head  that  he 
was  at  liberty  to  return  to  his  own  home.  Neither 
he  nor  any  of  his  friends  had  ever  left  a  party  until 
it  was  officially  concluded.  What  his  sufferings  de- 
manded of  him  now  for  their  alleviation  was  not 
departure  but  action! 

Underneath  the  surface,  nearly  all  children's  par- 
ties contain  a  group  of  outlaws  who  wait  only  for  a 
leader  to  hoist  the  black  flag.  The  group  consists 
mainly  of  boys  too  shy  to  be  at  ease  with  the  girls, 
but  who  wish  to  distinguish  themselves  in  some  way; 
and  there  are  others,  ordinarily  well  behaved,  whom 
the  mere  actuality  of  a  party  makes  drunken.  The 
effect  of  music,  too,  upon  children  is  incalculable, 
especially  when  they  do  not  hear  it  often — and  both 


334  PENROD  AND  SAM 

a  snare-drum  and  a  bass  drum  were  in  the  expensive 
orchestra  at  the  Rennsdale  party. 

Nevertheless,  the  outlawry  at  any  party  may  remaii 
incipient  unless  a  chieftain  appears,  but  in  Penrod'i 
corner  were  now  gathering  into  one  anarchical  mooc 
all  the  necessary  qualifications  for  leadership.  Ou 
of  that  bitter  corner  there  stepped,  not  a  Penrod  Scho 
field  subdued  and  hoping  to  win  the  lost  favour  of  th< 
Authorities,  but  a  hot-hearted  rebel  determined  on  ai 
uprising. 

Smiling  a  reckless  and  challenging  smile,  he  re 
turned  to  the  cluster  of  boys  in  the  wide  doorway  anc 
began  to  push  one  and  another  of  them  about.  The^ 
responded  hopefully  with  counter-pushes,  and  pres 
ently  there  was  a  tumultuous  surging  and  eddying  ii 
that  quarter,  accompanied  by  noises  which  began  tc 
compete  with  the  music.  Then  Penrod  allowed  him 
self  to  be  shoved  out  among  the  circling  dancers 
so  that  he  collided  with  Marjorie  and  Maurice  Levy 
almost  oversetting  them. 

He  made  a  mock  bow  and  a  mock  apology,  bein^ 
inspired  to  invent  a  jargon  phrase. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  at  the  same  time  making 
vocal  his  own  conception  of  a  taunting  laugh.  "  Ex 
cuse  me,  but  I  must  'a'  got  your  bumpus ! " 


"He  made  a  mock  bow  and  a  mock  apology,  being  inspired  to  invent  a 
jargon  phrase.  '  Excuse  me,'  he  said,  at  the  same  time  making  vocal  his 
own  conception  of  a  taunting  laugh;  'excuse  me,  but  I  must  'a'  got  your 
bump  us! '  " 


THE  PARTY  335 

Marjorie  looked  grieved  and  turned  away  with 
Maurice,  but  the  boys  in  the  doorway  squealed  with 
maniac  laughter. 

"Gotcher  bumpus!  Gotcher  bumpus!"  they 
shrilled.  And  they  began  to  push  others  of  their 
number  against  the  dancing  couples,  shouting, 
"'Scuse  me!  Gotcher  bumpus!" 

It  became  a  contagion  and  then  a  game.  As  the 
dances  went  on,  strings  of  boys,  led  by  Penrod,  pur- 
sued one  another  across  the  rooms,  howling,  "  Gotcher 
bumpus!"  at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  They  dodged 
and  ducked,  and  seized  upon  dancers  as  shields; 
they  caromed  from  one  couple  into  another,  and  even 
into  the  musicians  of  the  orchestra.  Boys  who  were 
dancing  abandoned  their  partners  and  joined  the 
marauders,  shrieking,  "Gotcher  bumpus!"  Potted 
plants  went  down;  a  slender  gilt  chair  refused  to  sup- 
port the  hurled  body  of  Master  Roderick  Magsworth 
Bitts,  and  the  sound  of  splintering  wood  mingled  with 
other  sounds.  Dancing  became  impossible ;  Miss  Amy 
Rennsdale  wept  in  the  midst  of  the  riot,  and  every- 
body knew  that  Penrod  Schofield  had  "started  it." 

Under  instructions,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra, 
clapping  his  hands  for  attention,  stepped  to  the  cen- 
tre of  the  drawing-room,  and  shouted, 


336  PENROD  AND  SAM 

"A  moment  silence,  if  you  bleace!" 

Slowly  the  hubbub  ceased;  the  virtuous  and  the 
wicked  paused  alike  in  their  courses  to  listen.  Miss 
Amy  Rennsdale  was  borne  away  to  have  her  tearful 
face  washed,  and  Marjorie  Jones  and  Carlie  Chitten 
and  Georgie  Bassett  came  forward  consciously,  es- 
corted by  Miss  Lowe.  The  musician  waited  until 
the  return  of  the  small  hostess;  then  he  announced 
in  a  loud  voice: 

"A  fency  dence  called  *Les  Papillons',  denced  by 
Miss  Amy  Rennstul,  Miss  Chones,  Mister  Chorch 
Passett,  ant  Mister  Jitten.  Some  young  chentlemen 
haf  mate  so  much  noise  ant  confoosion,  Miss  Lowe 
wish  me  to  ask  bleace  no  more  such  a  nonsense. 
Fency  dence,  'Les  Papillons.'  ; 

Thereupon,  after  formal  salutations,  Mr.  Chitten 
took  Marjorie's  hand,  Georgie  Bassett  took  Miss 
Rennsdale's,  and  they  proceeded  to  dance  "Les  Papil- 
lons" in  a  manner  which  made  up  in  conscientious- 
ness whatever  it  may  have  lacked  in  abandon.  The 
outlaw  leader  looked  on,  smiling  a  smile  intended  to 
represent  careless  contempt,  but  in  reality  he  was 
unpleasantly  surprised.  A  fancy  dance  by  Georgie 
Bassett  and  Baby  Rennsdale  was  customary  at  every 
party  attended  by  members  of  the  Friday  Afternoon 


THE  PARTY  337 

Dancing  Class,  but  Marjorie  and  Carlie  Chitten  were 
new  performers,  and  Penrod  had  not  heard  that  they 
had  learned  to  dance  "Les  Papillons"  together. 
He  was  the  further  embittered. 

Carlie  made  a  false  step,  recovering  himself  with 
some  difficulty,  whereupon  a  loud,  jeering  squawk 
of  laughter  was  heard  from  the  insurgent  cluster, 
which  had  been  awed  to  temporary  quiet  but  still 
maintained  its  base  in  the  drawing-room  doorway. 
There  was  a  general  "Sh!"  followed  by  a  shocked 
whispering,  as  well  as  a  general  turning  of  eyes  to- 
ward Penrod.  But  it  was  not  Penrod  who  had 
laughed,  though  no  one  would  have  credited  him 
with  an  alibi.  The  laughter  came  from  two  throats 
that  breathed  as  one  with  such  perfect  simultaneous- 
ness  that  only  one  was  credited  with  the  disturbance. 
These  two  throats  belonged  respectively  to  Samuel 
Williams  and  Maurice  Levy,  who  were  standing 
in  a  strikingly  Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern  atti- 
tude. 

"He  got  me  with  his  ole  tin-box  needle,  too," 
Maurice  muttered  to  Sam.  "He  was  goin*  to  do  it 
to  Marjorie,  and  I  told  her  to  look  out,  and  he  says, 
*  Here,  you  take  it !'  all  of  a  sudden,  and  he  stuck  it  in 
my  hand  so  quick  I  never  thought.  And  then,  him  ! 


338  PENROD  AND  SAM 

his  ole  needle  shot  out  and  perty  near  went  through 
my  thumb-bone  or  sumpthing.  He'll  be  sorry  before 
this  day's  over!" 

"Well,"  said  Sam  darkly,  "he's  goin'  to  be  sorry 
he  stuck  me,  anyway!"  Neither  Sam  nor  Maurice 
had  even  the  vaguest  plan  for  causing  the  desired 
regret  in  the  breast  of  Master  Chitten,  but  both 
derived  a  little  consolation  from  these  prophecies. 
And  they,  too,  had  aligned  themselves  with  the  insur- 
gents. A>  Their  motives  were  personal — Carlie  Chitten 
had  wronged  both  of  them,  and  Carlie  was  conspicu- 
ously in  high  favour  with  the  Authorities.  Naturally 
Sam  and  Maurice  were  against  the  Authorities. 

"Les  Papillons"  came  to  a  conclusion.  Carlie  and 
Georgie  bowed;  Marjorie  Jones  and  Baby  Henns- 
dale  courtesied,  and  there  was  loud  applause.  In 
fact,  the  demonstration  became  so  uproarious  that 
some  measure  of  it  was  open  to  suspicion,  especially 
as  hisses  of  reptilian  venomousness  were  commingled 
with  it,  and  also  a  hoarse  but  vociferous  repetition 
of  the  dastard  words,  "  Carlie  dances  rotten  I "  Again 
it  was  the  work  of  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern, 
but  the  plot  was  attributed  to  another. 

"Shame,  Penrod  Schofield!"  said  both  the  aunts 
Rennsdale  publicly,  and  Penrod,  wholly  innocent, 


THE  PARTY  339 

became  scarlet  with  indignant  mortification.  Carlie 
Chitten  himself,  however,  marked  the  true  offenders. 
A  slight  flush  tinted  his  cheeks,  and  then,  in  his  quiet, 
self-contained  way,  he  slipped  through  the  crowd  of 
girls  and  boys,  unnoticed,  into  the  hall,  and  ran  noise- 
lessly up  the  stairs  and  into  the  "gentlemen's  dress- 
ing room,"  now  inhabited  only  by  hats,  caps,  over- 
coats, and  the  temporarily  discarded  shoes  of  the 
dancers.  Most  of  the  shoes  stood  in  rows  against 
the  wall,  and  Carlie  examined  these  rows  attentively, 
after  a  time  discovering  a  pair  of  shoes  with  patent 
leather  tips.  He  knew  them;  they  belonged  to  Mau- 
rice Levy,  and  picking  them  up,  he  went  to  a  corner 
of  the  room  where  four  shoes  had  been  left  together 
under  a  chair.  Upon  the  chair  were  overcoats  and 
caps  which  he  was  able  to  identify  as  the  property  of 
Penrod  Schofield  and  Samuel  Williams,  but,  as  he 
was  not  sure  which  pair  of  shoes  belonged  to  Penrod 
and  which  to  Sam,  he  added  both  pairs  to  Maurice's 
and  carried  them  into  the  bathroom.  Here  he  set 
the  plug  in  the  tub,  turned  the  faucets,  and,  after 
looking  about  him  and  discovering  large  supplies  of 
all  sorts  in  a  wall  cabinet,  he  tossed  six  cakes  of  green 
soap  into  the  tub.  He  let  the  soap  remain  in  the 
water  to  soften  a  little,  and,  returning  to  the  dressing 


340  PENROD  AND  SAM 

room,  whiled  away  the  time  in  mixing  and  mismating 
pairs  of  shoes  along  the  walls,  and  also  in  tying 
the  strings  of  the  mismated  shoes  together  in  hard 
knots. 

Throughout  all  this,  his  expression  was  grave  and 
intent;  his  bright  eyes  grew  brighter,  but  he  did  not 
smile.  Carlie  Chitten  was  a  singular  boy,  though 
not  unique:  he  was  an  "only  child,"  lived  at  a  hotel, 
and  found  life  there  favourable  to  the  development 
of  certain  peculiarities  in  his  nature.  He  played  a 
lone  hand,  and  with  what  precocious  diplomacy  he 
played  that  curious  hand  was  attested  by  the  fact 
that  Carlie  was  brilliantly  esteemed  by  parents  and 
guardians  in  general. 

It  must  be  said  for  Carlie  that,  in  one  way,  his 
nature  was  liberal.  For  instance,  having  come  up- 
stairs to  prepare  a  vengenace  upon  Sam  and  Maurice 
in  return  for  their  slurs  upon  his  dancing,  he  did  not 
confine  his  efforts  to  the  belongings  of  those  two 
alone.  He  provided  every  boy  in  the  house  with 
something  to  think  about  later,  when  shoes  should  be 
resumed;  and  he  was  far  from  stopping  at  that. 
Casting  about  him  for  some  material  that  he  desired, 
he  opened  a  door  of  the  dressing-room  and  found 
himself  confronting  the  apartment  of  Miss  Lowe. 


THE  PARTY  341 

Upon  a  desk  he  beheld  the  bottle  of  mucilage  he 
wanted,  and,  having  taken  possession  of  it,  he  al- 
lowed his  eye  the  privilege  of  a  rapid  glance  into  a 
dressing  table  drawer,  accidentally  left  open.; 

He  returned  to  the  dressing  room,  five  seconds 
later,  carrying  not  only  the  mucilage  but  a  "switch" 
worn  by  Miss  Lowe  when  her  hair  was  dressed  in  a 
fashion  different  from  that  which  she  had  favoured 
for  the  party.  This  "switch"  he  placed  in  the  pocket 
of  a  juvenile  overcoat  unknown  to  him,  and  then  he 
took  the  mucilage  into  the  bathroom.  There  he 
rescued  from  the  water  the  six  cakes  of  soap,  placed 
one  in  each  of  the  six  shoes,  pounding  it  down  securely 
into  the  toe  of  the  shoe  with  the  handle  of  a  back 
brush.  After  that,  Carlie  poured  mucilage  into  all 
six  shoes  impartially  until  the  bottle  was  empty, 
then  took  them  back  to  their  former  positions  in  the 
dressing  room.  Finally,  with  careful  forethought, 
he  placed  his  own  shoes  in  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat, 
and  left  the  overcoat  and  his  cap  upon  a  chair  near 
the  outer  door  of  the  room.  Then  he  went  quietly 
downstairs,  having  been  absent  from  the  festivities 
a  little  less  than  twelve  minutes.  He  had  been 
energetic — only  a  boy  could  have  accomplished  so 
much  in  so  short  a  time.  In  fact,  Carlie  had  been 


342  PENEOD  AND  SAM 

so  busy  that  his  forgetting  to  turn  off  the  faucets  in 
the  bathroom  is  not  at  all  surprising. 

No  one  had  noticed  his  absence.  That  infectious 
pastime,  "Gotcher  bumpus,"  had  broken  out  again, 
and  the  general  dancing,  which  had  been  resumed 
upon  the  conclusion  of  "Les  Papillons,"  was  once 
more  becoming  demoralized.  Despairingly  the  aunts 
Rennsdale  and  Miss  Lowe  brought  forth  from  the 
rear  of  the  house  a  couple  of  waiters  and  commanded 
them  to  arrest  the  ringleaders,  whereupon  hilarious 
terror  spread  among  the  outlaw  band.  Shouting 
tauntingly  at  their  pursuers,  they  fled — and  bellow- 
ing, trampling  flight  swept  through  every  quarter 
of  the  house. 

Refreshments  quelled  this  outbreak  for  a  time. 
The  orchestra  played  a  march;  Carlie  Chitten  and 
Georgie  Bassett,  with  Amy  Rennsdale  and  Marjorie, 
formed  the  head  of  a  procession,  while  all  the  boys 
who  had  retained  their  sense  of  decorum  immediately 
sought  partners  and  fell  in  behind.  The  outlaws, 
succumbing  to  ice  cream  hunger,  followed  suit,  one 
after  the  other,  until  all  of  the  girls  were  provided 
with  escorts.  Then,  to  the  moral  strains  of  "The 
Stars  and  Stripes  Forever,"  the  children  paraded  out 
to  the  dining-room.  Two  and  two  they  marched, 


THE  PARTY  343 

except  at  the  extreme  tail  end  of  the  line,  where, 
since  there  were  three  more  boys  than  girls  at  the 
party,  the  three  left-over  boys  were  placed.  These 
three  were  also  the  last  three  outlaws  to  succumb  and 
return  to  civilization  from  outlying  portions  of  the 
house  after  the  pursuit  by  waiters.  They  were 
Messieurs  Maurice  Levy,  Samuel  Williams,  and  Pen- 
rod  Schofield. 

They  took  their  chairs  in  the  capacious  dining 
room  quietly  enough,  though  their  expressions 
were  eloquent  of  bravado,  and  they  jostled  one 
another  and  their  neighbours  intentionally,  even  in 
the  act  of  sitting.  However,  it  was  not  long  before 
delectable  foods  engaged  their  whole  attention  and 
Miss  Amy  Rennsdale's  party  relapsed  into  etiquette 
for  the  following  twenty  minutes.  The  refection 
concluded  with  the  mild  explosion  of  paper  "crack- 
ers," which  erupted  bright-coloured,  fantastic  head- 
gear, and  during  the  snapping  of  the  "crackers," 
Penrod  heard  the  voice  of  Marjorie  calling  from 
somewhere  behind  him,  "Carlie  and  Amy,  will  you 
change  chairs  with  Georgie  Bassett  and  me — just 
for  fun?"  The  chairs  had  been  placed  in  rows,  back 
to  back,  and  Penrod  would  not  even  turn  his  head 
to  see  if  Master  Chitten  and  Miss  Rennsdale  ac- 


344  PENROD  AND  SAM 

cepted  Marjorie's  proposal,  though  they  were  di- 
rectly behind  him  and  Sam,  but  he  grew  red  and 
breathed  hard.  A  moment  later,  the  liberty-cap 
which  he  had  set  upon  his  head  was  softly  removed, 
and  a  little  crown  of  silver  paper  put  in  its  place. 


The  whisper  was  close  to  his  ear,  and  a  gentle 
breath  cooled  the  back  of  his  neck. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES 

WELL,  what  you   want?"   Penrod   asked, 
brusquely. 
Marjorie's  wonderful  eyes  were  dark 
and  mysterious,  like  still  water  at  twilight. 

"What  makes  you  behave  so  awful?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"I  don't  either!    I  guess  I  got  a  right  to  do  the 
way  I  want  to,  haven't  I?" 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Marjorie,  "you  ought  to 
quit  bumping  into  people  so  it  hurts." 

"  Poh !    It  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly ! " 

"Yes,  it  did.    It  hurt  when  you  bumped  Maurice 
and  me  that  time." 

"It  didn't  either.     Where'd  it  hurt  you?    Let's 
see  if  it " 

"Well,  I  can't  show  you,  but  it  did.     Penrod, 
are  you  going  to  keep  on?" 

Penrod's  heart  had  melted  within  him,  but  his 
reply  was  pompous  and  cold.     "I  will  if  I  feel  like 

345 


346  PENROD  AND  SAM 

it,  and  I  won't  if  I  feel  like   it.    You  wait  and 


see." 


But  Marjorie  jumped  up  and  ran  around  to  him 
abandoning  her  escort.  All  the  children  were  leav- 
ing their  chairs  and  moving  toward  the  dancing- 
rooms;  the  orchestra  was  playing  dance-music 
again. 

"Come  on,  Penrod!"  Marjorie  cried.  "Let's 
go  dance  this  together.  Come  on!" 

With  seeming  reluctance,  he  suffered  her  to  lead 
him  away.  "Well,  I'll  go  with  you,  but  I  won't 
dance,"  he  said.  "I  wouldn't  dance  with  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States!" 

"Why,Penrod?" 

"Well— because— well,  I  won't  do  it!" 

"All  right.  I  don't  care.  I  guess  I've  danced 
plenty,  anyhow.  Let's  go  in  here."  She  led  him 
into  a  room  too  small  for  dancing,  used  ordinarily 
by  Miss  Amy  Rennsdale's  papa  as  his  study,  and 
now  vacant.  For  a  while  there  was  silence,  but 
finally  Marjorie  pointed  to  the  window  and  said 
shyly: 

"Look,  Penrod,  it's  getting  dark.  The  party '11 
be  over  pretty  soon,  and  you've  never  danced  one 
single  time!" 


THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES  347 

"Well,  I  guess  I  know  that,  don't  I?" 

He  was  unable  to  cast  aside  his  outward  truculence, 
though  it  was  but  a  relic.  However,  his  voice  was 
gentler,  and  Marjorie  seemed  satisfied.  From  the 
other  rooms  came  the  swinging  music,  shouts  of 
"Gotcher  bumpus!"  sounds  of  stumbling,  of  scramb- 
ling, of  running,  of  muffled  concussions,  and  squeals 
of  dismay.  Penrod's  followers  were  renewing  the 
wild  work,  even  in  the  absence  of  their  chief. 

"Penrod  Schofield,  you  bad  boy,"  said  Marjorie, 
"you  started  every  bit  of  that!  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself." 

"/  didn't  do  anything,"  he  said — and  he  believed 
it.  "Pick  on  me  for  everything!" 

"Well,  they  wouldn't  if  you  didn't  do  so  much," 
said  Marjorie. 

"They  would,  too." 

" They  wouldn't,  either.    Who  would? " 

"That  Miss  Lowe,"  he  specified  bitterly.  "Yes, 
and  Baby  Rennsdale's  aunts.  If  the  house'd  burn 
down,  I  bet  they'd  say  Penrod  Schofield  did  it! 
Anybody  does  anything  at  all,  they  say,  *  Penrod 
Schofield,  shame  on  you!'  When  you  and  Carlie 
were  dan " 

"Penrod,  I  just  hate  that  little  Carlie  Chitten. 


S48  PENROD  AND  SAM 

P'fesser  Bartet  made  me  learn  that  dance  with  him, 
but  I  just  hate  him." 

Penrod  was  now  almost  completely  mollified; 
nevertheless,  he  continued  to  set  forth  his  grievance. 
"Well,  they  all  turned  around  to  me  and  they  said, 
'Why,  Penrod  Schofield,  shame  on  you!'  And 
I  hadn't  done  a  single  thing!  I  was  just  standin' 
there.  They  got  to  blame  me,  though ! " 

Marjorie  laughed  airily.  "Well,  if  you  aren't  the 
foolishest " 

"They  would,  too,"  he  asserted,  with  renewed 
bitterness.  "If  the  house  was  to  fall  down,  you'd 
see!  They'd  all  say " 

Marjorie  interrupted  him.  She  put  her  hand  en 
the  top  of  her  head,  looking  a  little  startled. 

"What's  that?  "she  said. 

"What's  what?" 

"Like  rain!"  Marjorie  cried.  "Like  it  was  rain- 
ing in  here !  A  drop  fell  on  my " 

"Why,  it  couldn't "  he  began.  But  at  this 

instant  a  drop  fell  upon  his  head,  too,  and,  looking 
up,  they  beheld  a  great  oozing  splotch  upon  the 
ceiling.  Drops  were  gathering  upon  it  and  falling; 
the  tinted  plaster  was  cracking,  and  a  little  stream 
began  to  patter  down  and  splash  upon  the  floor. 


THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES  349 

Then  there  came  a  resounding  thump  upstairs,  just 
above  them,  and  fragments  of  wet  plaster  fell. 

"The  roof  must  be  leaking,"  said  Marjorie,  begin- 
ning to  be  alarmed. 

"Couldn't  be  the  roof,"  said  Penrod.  "Besides 
there  ain't  any  rain  outdoors." 

As  he  spoke,  a  second  slender  stream  of  water 
began  to  patter  upon  the  floor  of  the  hall  outside  the 
door. 

"Good  gracious!"  Marjorie  cried,  while  the  ceiling 
above  them  shook  as  with  earthquake — or  as  with 
boys  in  numbers  jumping,  and  a  great  uproar  burst 
forth  overhead. 

"I  believe  the  house  is  falling  down,  Penrod!" 
she  quavered. 

"Well,  they'll  blame  me  for  it!"  he  said.  "Any- 
ways, we  better  get  out  o'  here.  I  guess  sumpthing 
must  be  the  matter." 

His  guess  was  accurate,  so  far  as  it  went.  The 
dance-music  had  swung  into  "Home  Sweet  Home" 
some  time  before,  the  children  were  preparing  to 
leave,  and  Master  Chitten  had  been  the  first  boy  to 
ascend  to  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room  for  his 
cap,  overcoat,  and  shoes,  his  motive  being  to  avoid 
by  departure  any  difficulty  in  case  his  earlier  activi- 


350  PENROD  AND  SAM 

ties  should  cause  him  to  be  suspected  by  the  other 
boys.  But  in  the  doorway  he  halted,  aghast. 

The  lights  had  not  been  turned  on,  but  even  the 
dim  windows  showed  that  the  polished  floor  gave 
back  reflections  no  floor-polish  had  ever  equalled. 
It  was  a  gently  steaming  lake,  from  an  eighth  to  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  deep.  And  Carlie  realized  that 
he  had  forgotten  to  turn  off  the  faucets  in  the  bath- 
room. 

For  a  moment,  his  savoirfaire  deserted  him,  and  he 
was  filled  with  ordinary,  human-boy  panic.  Then,  at 
a  sound  of  voices  behind  him,  he  lost  his  head  and 
rushed  into  the  bathroom.  It  was  dark,  but  cer- 
tain sensations  and  the  splashing  of  his  pumps  warned 
him  that  the  water  was  deeper  in  there.  The  next 
instant  the  lights  were  switched  on  in  both  bathroom 
and  dressing-room,  and  Carlie  beheld  Sam  Williams  in 
the  doorway  of  the  former. 

"Oh,  look,  Maurice!"  Sam  shouted,  in  frantic 
excitement.  "Somebody's  let  the  tub  run  over,  and 
it's  about  ten  feet  deep!  Carlie  Chitten's  sloshin' 
around  in  here.  Let's  hold  the  door  on  him  and 
keep  him  in!" 

Carlie  rushed  to  prevent  the  execution  of  this 
project,  but  he  slipped  and  went  swishing  full  length 


THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES  351 

along  the  floor,  creating  a  little  surf  before  him  as 
he  slid,  to  the  demoniac  happiness  of  Sam  and  Mau- 
rice. They  closed  the  door,  however,  and,  as  other 
boys  rushed,  shouting  and  splashing,  into  the  flooded 
dressing-room,  Carlie  began  to  hammer  upon  the 
panels.  Then  the  owners  of  shoes,  striving  to  res- 
cue them  from  the  increasing  waters,  made  discov- 
eries. 

The  most  dangerous  time  to  give  a  large  children's 
party  is  when  there  has  not  been  one  for  a  long 
period.  The  Rennsdale  party  had  that  misfortune, 
and  its  climax  was  the  complete  and  convulsive 
madness  of  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room  during 
those  final  moments  supposed  to  be  given  to  quiet 
preparations,  on  the  part  of  guests,  for  departure. 

In  the  upper  hall  and  upon  the  stairway,  panic- 
stricken  little  girls  listened,  wild-eyed,  to  the  uproar 
that  went  on,  while  waiters  and  maid  servants  rushed 
with  pails  and  towels  into  what  was  essentially  the 
worst  ward  in  Bedlam.  Boys  who  had  behaved 
properly  all  afternoon  now  gave  way  and  joined  the 
confraternity  of  lunatics.  The  floors  of  the  house 
shook  to  tramplings,  rushes,  wrestlings,  falls,  and 
collisions.  The  walls  resounded  to  chorused  bel- 


352  PENROD  AND  SAM 

lo wings  and  roars.  There  were  pipings  of  pain  and 
pipings  of  joy;  there  was  whistling  to  pierce  the 
drums  of  ears;  there  were  hootings  and  howlings  and 
bleatings  and  screechings,  while  over  all  bleated  the 
heathen  battle-cry  incessantly:  "Gotcher  bumpus! 
Gotcher  bumpus  /"  For  the  boys  had  been  inspired 
by  the  unusual  water  to  transform  Penrod's  game  of 
"Gotcher  bumpus"  into  an  aquatic  sport,  and  to 
induce  one  another,  by  means  of  superior  force, 
dexterity,  or  stratagems,  either  to  sit  or  to  lie  at  full 
length  in  the  flood,  after  the  example  of  Carlie 
Chitten. 

One  of  the  aunts  Rennsdale  had  taken  what  charge 
she  could  of  the  deafened  and  distracted  maids  and 
waiters  who  were  working  to  stem  the  tide,  while 
the  other  of  the  aunts  Rennsdale  stood  with  her  niece 
and  Miss  Lowe  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  trying  to 
say  good-night  reassuringly  to  those  of  the  terrified 
little  girls  who  were  able  to  tear  themselves  away. 
This  latter  aunt  Rennsdale  marked  a  dripping  figure 
which  came  unobtrusively,  and  yet  in  a  self-contained 
and  gentlemanly  manner,  down  the  stairs. 

"Carlie  Chitten!"  she  cried.  "You  poor  dear 
child,  you're  soaking!  To  think  those  outrageous 
little  fiends  wouldn't  even  spare  you  I "  As  she 


THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES  353 

spoke,  another  departing  male  guest  came  from  be- 
hind Carlie  and  placed  in  her  hand  a  snakelike 
article^a  thing  which  Miss  Lowe  seized  and  con- 
cealed with  one  sweeping  gesture. 

"It's  some  false  hair  somebody  must  of  put  in 
my  overcoat  pocket,"  said  Roderick  Magsworth 
Bitts.  "Well,  g'-night.  Thank  you  for  a  very  nice 
time." 

"Good-night,  Miss  Rennsdale,"  said  Master  Chit- 
ten  demurely.  "  Thank  you  for  a " 

But  Miss  Rennsdale  detained  him. 

"Carlie,"  she  said  earnestly,  "you're  a  dear  boy, 
and  I  know  you'll  tell  me  something.  It  was  all 
Penrod  Schofield,  wasn't  it?" 

"You  mean  he  left  the " 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  not  altogether 
devoid  of  ferocity,  "I  mean  it  was  Penrod  who  left 
the  faucets  running,  and  Penrod  who  tied  the  boys* 
shoes  together,  and  filled  some  of  them  with  soap 
and  mucilage,  and  put  Miss  Lowe's  hair  in  Roddy 
Bitts's  overcoat.  No;  look  me  in  the  eye,  Carlie! 
They  were  all  shouting  that  silly  thing  he  started. 
Didn't  he  do  it?" 

Carlie  cast  down  thoughtful  eyes.  "I  wouldn't 
like  to  tell,  Miss  Rennsdale,"  he  said.  "I  guess  I 


354r  PENROD  AND  SAM 

better  be  going  or  I'll  catch  cold.     Thank  you  for  a 
very  nice  time."  - 

"There!"  said  Miss  Rennsdale  vehemently,  as 
Carlie  went  on  his  way.  "What  did  I  tell  you? 
Carlie  Chitten's  too  manly  to  say  it,  but  I  just  know 
it  was  that  terrible  Penrod  Schofield." 

Behind  her,  a  low  voice,  unheard  by  all  except  the 
person  to  whom  it  spoke,  repeated  a  part  of  this 
speech:  "What  did  I  tell  you?" 

This  voice  belonged  to  one  Penrod  Schofield. 

Penrod  and  Marjorie  had  descended  by  another 
stairway,  and  he  now  considered  it  wiser  to  pass  to 
the  rear  of  the  little  party  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
As  he  was  still  in  his  pumps,  his  choked  shoes  occupy- 
ing his  overcoat  pockets,  he  experienced  no  difficulty 
in  reaching  the  front  door,  and  getting  out  of  it 
unobserved,  although  the  noise  upstairs  was  greatly 
abated.  Marjorie,  however,  made  her  courtesies 
and  farewells  in  a  creditable  manner. 

"There!"  said  Penrod  again,  when  she  rejoined 
him  in  the  darkness  outside.  "What  did  I  tell  you? 
Didn't  I  say  I'd  get  the  blame  of  it,  no  matter  if  the 
house  went  and  fell  down?  I  s'pose  they  think  I 
put  mucilage  and  soap  in  my  own  shoes." 

Marjorie  delayed  at  the  gate  until  some  eagerly 


THE  HEART  OF  MARJORIE  JONES  355 

talking  little  girls  had  passed  out.  The  name  "Pen- 
rod  Schofield"  was  thick  and  scandalous  among  them. 

"Well,"  said  Marjorie,  "7  wouldn't  care,  Penrod. 
'Course,  about  soap  and  mucilage  in  your  shoes, 
anybody'd  know  some  other  fooy  must  of  put  'em 
there  to  get  even  for  what  you  put  in  his." 

Penrod  gasped. 

"  But  I  didn't  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  didn't  do  anything  1 
That  ole  Miss  Rennsdale  can  say  what  she  wants 
to,  I  didn't  do  a " 

"Well,  anyway,  Penrod,"  said  Marjorie,  softly, 
"they  can't  ever  prove  it  was  you." 

He  felt  himself  suffocating  in  a  coil  against  which 
no  struggle  availed. 

"But  I  never  did  it!"  he  wailed,  helplessly.  "I 
never  did  anything  at  all!" 

She  leaned  toward  him  a  little,  and  the  lights  from 
her  waiting  carriage  illumined  her  dimly,  but  enough 
for  him  to  see  that  her  look  was  fond  and  proud, 
yet  almost  awed. 

"Anyway,  Penrod,"  she  whispered,  "7  don't  be- 
lieve there's  any  other  boy  in  the  whole  world  could 
of  done  half  as  much!" 

And  with  that  she  left  him,  and  ran  out  to  the 
carriage. 


356  PENROD  AND  SAM 

But  Penrod  remained  by  the  gate  to  wait  for  Sam, 
and  the  burden  of  his  sorrows  was  beginning  to 
lift.  In  fact,  he  felt  a  great  deal  better,  in  spite 
of  his  having  just  discovered  why  Marjorie  loved 
him. 


THE   END 


THE  COUNTRY  LITE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  NEW  YORK 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 
To  renew  by  phone,  call  429-2756 


MAY  27  76 

JUNl-RHTD 

SEP  2  9 '83      M 

OCT4    1983  RHTD 

JUN15'85 

JUN    71985ttt'l 


Series  3726 


' 


3  2106  00208  161 


